Departure
by J.J. Keegan
Summary: Why did Thomas Magnum resign from the Navy?


Disclaimer: I don't own MAGNUM PI or any of the original series' characters. I just borrow them from time to time for fun, not profit.

Spoiler warning: This story contains spoilers for a Hawaii Five-0 fanfiction story entitled _Hanging in the Balance_ by the same author (click on author's name at top of page to access). If interested in that story, you should read it first. However, you don't have to read any of _HITB_ to understand this story, so if you're not into H50 fanfiction, read on!

**Departure**

by

J.J. Keegan

_1 October 1979_

"_I can't do this any more!"_ I shouted raggedly at the empty sky.

Never mind being happy. At the rate things were going, I wasn't sure I was going to stay sane...

There was no one out there to hear me. No one to see the misery etched on my face. The surf was running pretty high -- a preview of the huge winter swells -- and it probably wasn't the best idea to be out on the ocean today, but I hadn't exactly been thinking straight when I grabbed my surf ski, headed for the beach, and plowed my way out through the break. After thirty minutes of hard paddling, I'd let the surf ski glide along on its own as I lay back and tried to catch my breath.

It was another beautiful day in paradise, but I'd just pulled one of the stupider stunts of my life, and now I was bobbing up and down on the Pacific Ocean contemplating some of life's Big Questions. The questions every man has to deal with sooner or later: Who am I? What's my purpose in life? Why am I here? Where am I going? They were questions I'd never had to ask myself, until recently.

I'd _never_ had to ask "Who am I?" before. I'd always known _exactly_ who I was. Thomas Sullivan Magnum. The Fourth. A career naval officer, just like Thomas Magnum the First, the Second and the Third. I went to the Naval Academy, just like all three of them, and I did well. I was the star of the football team. "He's another Staubach," the alumni whispered in awe. "Take it easy out there, kid, don't get hurt," the scouts said when I graduated, "and in five years you'll be playing pro ball."

They were right, I could have made it in pro ball. But a very long time ago I'd decided on a career in the Navy. I owed it to Dad. I'd lost him when I was only five years old, and I'd spent my life trying to follow in his footsteps.

I couldn't fly jets like Dad (something about my depth perception not being exactly perfect), so I chose special warfare. The Teams. SEALs. No taking the easy way out.

I went to Vietnam three times. I can't say it didn't bother me. Of course it did. No one who went to Vietnam came back the same. But even after the horror and loss I experienced there, I still knew who I was and what I wanted. Sure, I'd shifted gears a little. Instead of running around jungles getting shot at, I'd been stationed in Honolulu for the last three years, doing staff work at the Naval Intelligence Agency, NIA. Most of the assignments had been pretty routine. Until this last one...

I did the right thing. I did my job. I did exactly what I was supposed to do. So why was I having trouble sleeping? And why was I having trouble looking myself in the eye? I didn't like the man I'd become. And for the first time in my life, I didn't know who I was any more...

**xxxxxxx**

_Seven months earlier_

Lieutenant Dan Cook and I had been buddies since high school. His dad, the Admiral, helped me get appointed to the Naval Academy by driving the Academy's football coach all the way to Tidewater on a Friday night to watch me play. Dan and I were roommates at the Academy, we were in 'Nam together, and now we were at NIA together, suffering under Captain Cooly, the egotistic, overbearing commanding officer. Sometimes 'Nam made more sense.

"Whaddya suppose Cooly wants to see us for this time?" Dan grumbled as we walked toward an isolated conference room deep within the windowless bowels of NIA.

"Dunno," I muttered. "We haven't done anything that I can think of. We haven't even been _near_ the O'Club in weeks. And why all the way down here, instead of in his office?"

As we rounded the last corner before our destination, both of us stopped short. "And we _sure_ as hell haven't done anything to get us in trouble with Five-0," I added quietly as we watched Naval Reserve Commander Steve McGarrett (aka Hawaii Five-0 Chief McGarrett) enter the conference room ahead of us. The look of apprehension on Dan's face matched the feeling in my belly as I pushed the door open.

Cooly sat at the head of a large conference table, with McGarrett two seats down. In between them sat my mentor, Cooly's deputy, Marine Lieutenant Colonel Beauregard T. "Buck" Greene. I raised an eyebrow at Greene, silently asking what was going on, but his face was as impassive and unreadable as McGarrett's.

Cooly, on the other hand, looked even more imperious and irritable than usual. "Sit," he ordered.

I tried to keep my own expression blank, but I was sure I had the same "what the hell?" look on my face as Dan did on his. Dan and I took seats next to each other, across the table from Greene and McGarrett.

"As you know," Cooly began, "Commander McGarrett has been on active duty with us for the past couple of weeks. What you don't know is that he has been working on a project that may allow us to crack a weapons smuggling operation."

_And make you look great in the process. _I relaxed a little._ Well, at least we're not in trouble, but I wonder why Dan and I are here. Cooly never assigns us to anything important._

Cooly gestured toward McGarrett. "Proceed, Commander."

McGarrett leaned forward. "We know that the leader of this particular ring is a man named Morgan Lyden." He held up a photograph of a rugged looking man who had short, thinning blond hair and appeared to be in his early forties. What really caught my attention, though, was the cold, hard look in the man's eyes. "Recognize him?"

Dan and I shook our heads. "Never seen him, but I've heard of him," I said. "I'm sure Colonel Greene already told you there were rumors that Lyden was making a nice profit in 'Nam buying and selling on the black market." I smiled inwardly as Greene shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Either he hadn't filled McGarrett in on what he knew, or they had decided to ask us questions without telling us they'd already compared notes.

McGarrett nodded. "He's been lying low for the last couple of years, but he's surfaced again in a big way. We know where he is, but the only way we're going to pin anything on him is with an undercover operation. A good undercover operation." McGarrett's face was grim; all of a sudden I didn't like this. "There's no way we can use anyone from Five-0 or HPD. The feds are out, too." His scowl deepened. "Lyden iced the federal agent they tried to put inside a few months ago. I don't like using the same scheme again, but it's our only viable option."

"This is where you two clowns come in," growled Cooly.

McGarrett's face twitched and he pressed his lips together as he glanced sideways at Cooly. Although I'd never liked McGarrett a whole lot, my opinion of him had just improved considerably.

_Clowns..._ I felt a flush begin to creep up my neck, but as I started to open my mouth I felt Dan's foot press against mine. _Don't..._ Dan's message was clear, and he was right; it wasn't worth it. I settled back in my seat.

"A disgruntled former SEAL is plausible," continued McGarrett. "We think Lyden would buy it."

Dan and I exchanged glances. He didn't like this idea any more than I did. "_Former_ SEAL? What do you want _us_ to do?" he asked.

"Not you, Lieutenant," answered Greene, shaking his head. "No one is going to believe that Admiral Cook's son has gone bad."

"You, on the other hand, Magnum..." said McGarrett. There was a twinkle in his eye, and I wasn't quite sure whether it was because he was amused at the thought of me pretending to go off the deep end, or because he knew this had to be bugging the hell out of Cooly.

I studied the wood grain of the conference table for a several long moments before eyeballing McGarrett. "You want me to infiltrate his organization..." I pressed my lips together so hard that I was sure they disappeared. "Alone?"

McGarrett leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and nodded gravely. "'Fraid so... It's believable. Anything that's not believable will get someone else killed." I felt my stomach start doing flip-flops.

I figured everyone was waiting for me to say something, but I waited, wondering if Cooly or Greene had anything to add. Dan finally broke the long, awkward silence with a quiet, "If he's the one going undercover, what I am doing here?"

"Two things," answered Greene. "First, if you weren't in on the plan, you'd never let Magnum act the way he's about to start acting. And second, it'll be your job to keep TC Calvin and Rick Wright away from him. We're not about to tell them what's going on, but they'll try to stop him from self-destructing." Greene squinted and pointed at me. "You can _bet_ on it."

The colonel was right. TC, Rick, Dan and I were as tight as we'd ever been, despite the fact that TC was now a reservist and Rick was once again a civilian.

"So what's the plan?" I asked quietly. I hated undercover work. I hated the deception involved, even when it meant bringing in criminals. But there was no point in discussing my opinion. This was a done deal, and I knew it.

"Only the people in this room and Admiral Hawkes will know the full scope of the operation," answered Greene. "Admiral Hawkes will brief Admiral Cook in just enough detail to keep him from trying to intervene in Magnum's 'departure' from the Navy." He turned to Dan. "Lieutenant, you're not to discuss this with your father, and he's being given the same instructions, not to discuss it with you. Clear?"

Dan nodded. "Clear, sir."

McGarrett spent the next hour laying out the plan and filling my head with facts about Morgan Lyden and his operation. The five of us then spent another half hour discussing the details of my impending breakdown.

**xxxxxxx**

_Late 1974_

Then-Major Buck Greene and I met during my third tour in 'Nam. He was a Marine S-2 intel type, very gung-ho, and sometimes we coordinated missions together. By our third deployment in-country, Dan Cook and I weren't exactly wide-eyed kids any more, so it didn't surprise us too much when Greene started hanging around with us even though he was senior to us and several years older than we were. TC Calvin, the VMO-2 pilot who ferried our team around, and Rick Wright, his door gunner, had warned us that Greene had a reputation in the Corps for being a ruthless bastard, but I thought it was just sour grapes on their part, because he mostly ignored them. "C'mon, TC, give him a break," I'd said. "He wants to be friends, that's all."

I remembered the penetrating look in TC's eyes as he grabbed my arm and stared hard at me. "You listen to me very carefully, TM. Buck Greene ... _does ... not ... have ... any ... friends._ If he's _pretending_ to be your friend, he wants something from you. He _never_ does _anything_ for _anyone_, unless it serves some purpose. I'm telling you, man, he's using you for something, or he's gonna!"

I'd gaffed him off, bought him another drink, and put his comments out of my mind.

One night after we'd been on a particularly stressful mission, we all hit the bars and got completely wasted. Most of the guys had already called it a night when one of the admin pukes who had access to the personnel records started in on Buck about his given first name, Beauregard. Buck decked the guy, and by the time his buddies dragged him away to get his broken nose looked at, the bar was just about empty. "Sounds like an interesting family history you got there," I commented quietly after Buck returned to his seat. He looked at me like he might like to slug me, too, but all of a sudden smiled and seemed to be in a storytelling mood.

"I'll tell you the story just the way my Mawmaw down in Lou'siana used to tell it to me."

_Buck's Southern accent sure does get thick when he's drunk,_ I remembered thinking.

"My granddaddy was an Army colonel stationed at Fort Knox, Kentucky. My mother, a wide-eyed, God-fearing young Southern lady, was barely eighteen when Granddaddy escorted her to the Army Ball in 1930. There, she met a young Army officer named Benjamin Joshua Greene, who was also stationed at Knox. At first she thought he might be one of the Greens of East Tennessee. But he quickly declared that he was "no damned rebel" but a born-and-bred Rhode Islander and a direct descendant of General George Sears Greene ("That's Greene, with an 'e'," he pointed out), who graduated second in his class at West Point and was one of the heroes of the Battle of Gettysburg. My mother sniffed and informed the arrogant Yankee that _she_ was none other than Elizabeth Ann Beauregard, a direct descendant of General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, second in _his_ class at West Point, and a loyal southerner who returned home to fight for the cause in that _dreadful_ "Waw of Nawthun Aggreshun."

"Despite the overwhelming odds, and to the horror of my very proper Southern-belle grandmother, Momma fell in love with the handsome young Yankee. It took Daddy two full years to convince my granddaddy that his intentions were honorable, but he eventually won Momma's hand in marriage." Buck grinned, and a strange, far-away look filled his eyes. "You've never seen two people more in love, Tom... Momma called Daddy 'BJ'... He called her 'Libby'...

"Well..." he cleared his throat. "Anyhow... Pretty soon I came along. I can only imagine the arguments the must have had about my name. Mawmaw said they about killed each other. Daddy refused to discuss giving any confederate traitor's name to _his_ son, but Momma was determined that her proud Southern heritage would be acknowledged and passed along." He chuckled and shook his head. "Tom, don't ever argue with a Southern woman. They may look fragile, but they're all steel inside, and once they put their mind to somethin', no point arguin' with 'em." He took a long swig of beer.

"I can see where Beauregard came from, but what's the "T" for?" I asked.

He grinned that weird lop-sided grin of his. "Momma won on the first name. And the 'T'?" He stared at me for a second. "Thomas." I couldn't help it. I started to laugh. "If you tell anyone..." he threatened.

I shook my head, still chuckling. "Who's it after?" Every name in the South had an explanation behind it.

"Momma always insisted 'Thomas' was in honor of General Thomas 'Stonewall' Jackson, whom she always said was "simply one of the finest men ever to cast a shadow upon God's earth." Daddy swore up and down that it came from General Thomas Sherman, another Rhode Islander and a distant relative.

"Momma always called me Beau. So did Mawmaw and Granddaddy, and all my aunts and uncles and cousins. But my Daddy just couldn't abide his son being called what he considered a sissy name, so he called me 'Buck' from the time I was born.

"I guess I was about eight when Daddy got stationed at Fort Campbell and we moved across the border into Tennessee. It was paradise for a kid. Daddy used to take me huntin' and fishin' _all_ the time..." The huge grin that had lit Buck's face slowed disappeared. "But then Daddy was sent off to France..." He swallowed hard and took another long pull on his beer. "And he never came back..."

I'd never seen Buck so upset, but I knew how it felt to be a kid and be handed the shattering news that your dad was never coming home. Buck pressed his lips together hard, shook his head slowly, and took a deep breath. "He's buried at Normandy." He took another deep breath. "It was tough to get by. Momma wanted me to go to West Point -- I think we went back about four or five generation of West Point grads on both Momma's and Daddy's sides. But I wanted to be able to send some money home to her and my little sister, so as soon as I turned seventeen, I enlisted in the Corps, and walked right into the middle of the Korean War."

I stared at him for a second as I felt a lump rise in my throat. "I lost my dad in Korea when I was only five..."

Although our lives were very different, Buck Greene and I shared the common experience of having lost a father to a far-away enemy. We never spoke of it again, and the next day he almost seemed embarrassed that he'd told the story, but it had created a bond between us that grew stronger as the days went by.

Buck became the mentor I'd never had. Besides working together, we spent a lot of our free time together, to the continued displeasure of TC and Rick. Even Dan was beginning to get irritated at Buck's near-constant presence. But I enjoyed the camaraderie; besides being a mentor, Buck was almost like the big brother I'd never had.

Pretty soon, though, I started spending a lot less time with the guys and lot more time with a beautiful French-Vietnamese nurse named Michelle. It didn't take us long to fall in love, and I asked her to marry me. Buck and Dan were sent out on a last minute mission and missed the wedding. I was disappointed, but TC and Rick were just as happy that Buck wasn't there. I could never convince them that Buck was genuinely a decent guy.

Just a few short weeks later, on that chaotic day when we left Saigon, it was Buck Greene who brought me the devastating news that Michelle was dead, killed in a rocket attack on her hospital...

After leaving Vietnam, I lost touch with Buck for about six months when he returned to Hawaii and Dan and I redeployed to San Diego. Then all of a sudden, Dan and I received orders to NIA at Pearl Harbor. Captain Cooly was livid. "I don't know how you two managed to scam these orders!" he snarled at us when we checked in. "I don't want you here! I don't need you here! But the goddam Director of Naval Intelligence himself says I'm stuck with you!"

Despite Cooly's firmly held belief to the contrary, Dan's father had never shown us any favoritism, so I figured Admiral Hawkes must have arranged for the orders, and I thanked him for the choice assignment the next time I saw him. He shook his head. "Not me, Thomas. You can thank Buck Greene."

"Lieutenant Colonel Greene??"

"Yep, he pushed hard for you two. Said you deserved it, after 'Nam. Took it all the way to the top."

Dan was as astonished as I was, but unlike me, he was also suspicious of Greene's motives. So were Rick and TC. "I'm telling you, man," TC said, "he wants to keep an eye on you for some reason. That's the way he operates."

"C'mon, TC," I retorted. "Can't a guy just do something nice for someone without you wondering what he's up to?"

TC shook his head. "No. Not this guy. No way. Never..."

**xxxxxxx**

I shook my head hard and pulled myself back to 1979, where I was sitting in my car outside NIA after our planning meeting. I wasn't sure why I'd been thinking about Greene all of a sudden. Maybe it was because the last time I'd been on any kind of a clandestine mission was back in Vietnam. I shook my head again.

Cooly, Greene and McGarrett had decided that I would become an embarrassment to the Navy, and be thrown out on an administrative separation based on unfitness for duty. Nothing criminal, but just enough impropriety involved to attract attention from Lyden's kind of people.

I started drinking, heavily and publicly, at both the Officer's Club and local bars. Sometimes I'd hit the O'Club with Dan right after work. After a few beers, Dan would encourage me to leave, but I'd tell him to go ahead, that I was fine and was going to have just one or two more. Dan would leave me behind, and several beers later, in no shape to drive home, I'd stumble over to the BOQ and crash for the night. The next morning, I'd show up for work in the same rumpled uniform, stinking of stale booze and fighting a raging hangover.

After a couple of weeks of deliberate self-destruction, I began to wonder why anyone would do this to himself. You'd really have to reach the bottom of life's barrel to start drinking all day, every day. I hoped I never had to find out what could push a man to that point.

One morning, I trudged out of the BOQ to find TC standing just outside the front door. For a second, I wondered how he'd gotten onto the base, until my foggy mind started working well enough to realize that his Marine Reserve ID made base access a snap.

TC stepped in front of me, crossed his arms, and grimaced at the sour odor. "What's going on, TM?" he asked carefully, although he thought he already knew.

"Nothin'," I mumbled, refusing to meet his gaze. "What are you doing here?" _Where the hell is Dan? He's supposed to keep you away from me!_

"Nothin', huh? Then why do you look like shit? Someone who was at the club last night called me... Told me you were acting like a fool..."

I started to push past him. "I gotta get to work."

He caught my arm. "_Work?_ You gotta get some help is what you gotta get!"

I pulled away. "Leave me alone!" It was easy to act like I wasn't in the mood. I wasn't. I was still drunk.

"Thomas!" The real concern in his voice made me turn my head halfway around. "You do _not_ wanna go where you're headed, man. I've _been_ there. It _stinks!_"

He sure as hell had been there. We'd helped him battle his way back. I was glad I wasn't really headed down that road. "Look, I know you mean well, TC," I said quietly, surprised to find my voice tightening just a little, "but I just don't give a damn any more, and I wanna be left alone." I gently pulled my arm free and walked away, leaving him scowling with worry.

When I got to the office I flashed Colonel Greene a prearranged signal that told him I needed to talk. Shortly afterwards, he walked through my office, took one look at me, and hauled me into a nearby conference room. For the benefit of anyone within earshot, he proceeded to shake the walls with the volume of the dressing down he gave me about my appearance. When he finished, I told him about the encounter with TC.

"Hmmm..." mused Greene. "I hadn't considered his base access." He thought for a few moments. "This is an easy fix. Today's Thursday, and I'm pretty sure the Marine reserves are drilling at K-Bay this weekend. I'll pay Warrant Officer Calvin a visit, tell that you're on a classified mission, and order him to stay away from you. You think he'll back off?"

"He won't like it, but when you put it to him like that, I think he will, yeah."

Greene chuckled. "He will when I add the fact that I'll recall him to active duty and send him to Washington, DC if he doesn't do as I say. Besides, he can help keep Wright away from you." He shook his head and winced. "By the way, do you feel as bad as you look?"

I rubbed a hand over my forehead, grimaced, and nodded.

"You think you're still legally drunk?"

I took a deep breath and nodded again. "No doubt about it." I'd made sure by gulping nearly a quarter of a bottle of scotch as soon as I woke up.

"In that case, it's time for our next step." He grinned. "You go first. Make it look good."

I couldn't help grinning back.

I slammed the door behind me, mock rage boiling through me, and dropped a couple of exceptionally unprofessional remarks about Greene and Cooly as I passed my fellow junior officers. When I got to my desk I took a very public swig from a liberally spiked bottle of soda. Despite my headache, I chuckled inwardly at the mental image of a cartoonish Red Baron falling out of the sky, shot down by Snoopy in his Sopwith Camel. I felt like the Red Baron; if this had been real, I would be in a flat spin right now, and in real trouble.

Greene came out of the conference room and walked slowly and deliberately toward my desk. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn he was furious. His hands were balled into tight fists at his sides, his face was a mask of rage, and every muscle in his body seemed rigid with tightly coiled energy. His squinting eyes and rippling jaw muscles completed the picture of a very angry man. Apparently I wasn't the only one who thought he looked like a snake ready to strike; although they probably didn't even realize it, every person the colonel passed took a step or two backwards.

Greene stopped beside me and stared for a long moment. I sat back, propped my feet up on the desk, and took another long drink of rum and coke. I stared defiantly at him as I slowly replaced the cap on the bottle. He held out his hand. "I'll take that." His voice was as menacing as his demeanor.

I held up the bottle. "This?" I tried to sound innocent.

"Yes, _that,_" he roared, as he reached down and grabbed a fistful of my shirt. "You're coming with me, _Lieutenant!"_ I guess I really had gotten under his skin; he jerked me to my feet with little effort, despite the fact that I was taller and heavier than he was. He grabbed the bottle from my hand and shoved me toward the door. It looked like the Red Sea parting as my stunned shipmates scrambled out of the way.

One thing that worked particularly well at NIA was the rumor mill. Before lunchtime, everyone at the command knew that Greene had hauled me over to medical for a fitness-for-duty examination, and by the end of the day they also knew I'd failed that examination miserably.

When I reported back to work the next day, the other junior officers gave me a wide berth; I was in trouble with the CO, and none of them wanted to be associated with me in any way. I couldn't blame them. Most of them were pretty new to this game, and as far as they were concerned, I was just one more Vietnam vet who was falling apart. They didn't know what to do about it, so they didn't do anything.

Cooly charged me with disrespect toward a superior commissioned officer, conduct unbecoming an officer, and incapacitation for performance of duties through prior wrongful indulgence in intoxicating liquor, Navy legalese for "drunk on duty." We went the full route: charges, investigations, lawyers; lots of opportunities for people to talk. The end result was a private but much-gossiped-about Admiral's Mast before Admiral Hawkes. To all but a handful of people, it looked as though I'd really been to Admiral's Mast. I _felt_ as though I'd really been to mast. It was just as disturbing as it was meant to be. I didn't like being told I wasn't welcome in the Navy. The feeling in the pit of my stomach made it very easy to lash out at Captain Cooly, and very realistic when I finally did.

Most people would have needed at least a couple of episodes like this to get kicked out of the Navy, but it was no stretch to believe that Cooly would go after me the very first time. The paperwork spelling out my impending 'departure' was left in Cooly's outbox overnight, and, once again, word spread like wildfire.

I could feel the stares as I was escorted to my desk to collect my personal belongings. Dan Cook studied the floor tiles, looking like he'd lost his last friend. Cooly watched with a shit-eating grin on his face. I was sure he was wishing that this wasn't all make-believe. I felt the stares all the way to the front door. I knew the whispers would start as soon as I was out of earshot.

Cooly spoke to Dan as I reached the door. "I don't care who your daddy is, Lieutenant. He couldn't help Magnum, and he won't be able to help you, either. You're both useless, and now that I've managed to get rid of him, it's one down, one to go."

It was a good thing I had my game face on, with the mission taking priority, because otherwise I might have been tempted to punch the man out. And I couldn't let it go completely. I turned and fixed Cooly with a murderous stare. My voice deadly calm, I said, "Screw you, Cooly. There are plenty of people who'll hire me, and for a lot more money." I took one step toward him and glared. "I'd like nothing better than to take those _egg-sucking_ birds off your collar and shove them down your _throat._ You remember one thing and remember it good; you have no _idea_ what I'm capable of."

I took great satisfaction at the flicker of fear I saw in Cooly's eyes. He wasn't sure that I didn't mean it. Hell, at that point, **_I_** wasn't sure I didn't mean it.

I left NIA, stopped at my apartment just long enough to change my clothes, and headed downtown. I was pretty juiced up by the time I climbed up on a chair and loudly proclaimed that I was a free man, the Uncle Sam didn't own my ass any more. The guys at that particular bar were no fans of the 'establishment,' and the place echoed with their cheers. The scary thing was, it felt good. A little too good...

**xxxxxxx**

For the next few weeks, I spent most of the day on the beach at Waikiki and most of the night bar hopping and sleeping on the beach. I hadn't changed my clothes in over a week, and the closest I'd come to a bath was a swim in the Pacific.

I was lounging on a bench in Waikiki just after dark one night when I heard a quiet voice say, "Tom, don't look at me, just listen." It was Greene's voice, but it was coming out of the long-haired, filthy drunk who had shuffled up, taken a seat at the other end of the bench, and dropped his chin to his chest as if dozing. "We have a problem. Wright is nosing around. He thinks the Navy screwed you, and he's asking way too many questions of all the wrong people. He's even got some of his underworld connections snooping around. Cook and Calvin haven't been able to shut him down. I'm out of options and this case is too big to blow. I'm taking him out."

"Let me talk to him," I whispered.

"Too late. Tomorrow, HPD and Five-0 are going to raid his office and find a stash of coke."

"_What?!"_ I was still whispering, but I wanted to shout.

"Everyone knows he deals."

"Used to. Past tense. Not any more!"

"I'm afraid he's about to go back to his old ways."

"You can't do that!"

"Keep your voice down. I can, and I'm going to. Tomorrow morning. And you're not going to be anywhere near his place at the time. That's an order."

"Dan can stop him!" I whispered urgently.

"Hasn't been able to so far. Besides, who do you think I ordered to plant the coke?"

My heart started thudding and I felt my stomach drop away. "You son of a bitch..." I said it so quietly he may not even have heard me. _Oh, my God... TC was right, all along. Buck Greene always has a price tag attached. He'll do anything to anyone to get what he wants._

"Don't look so stunned, Tom. After it's all over, the charges will be dropped."

_Yeah, but no one will ever know it was a plant. Rick's name will still be dragged through the mud. And Dan will know he's the one who made it happen._ "No, you can't! Please!" I added desperately.

Greene shifted in his seat, snorting and coughing like he was trying to hack up a lung. "You have your orders, _Lieutenant_," he grunted. "Now get up and walk away."

The disgust on my face was real as I rose to my feet and forced myself to move slowly as I wandered away.

_TC was right._ The thought ricocheted through my head as my system pulsed with adrenaline. I had just a few hours before Dan was forced to destroy Rick, and maybe himself in the process. I could think of only one inadequate plan, and I prayed that Dan would catch on.

**xxxxxxx**

"Rick's Café Americana" was fairly classy, and I was definitely out of place in my swim trunks and tank top. I knew I'd never make it past Rick's bouncers, so I sneaked in through the kitchen and plunked myself down on a conveniently empty barstool, right beside Dan Cook.

"Well, well, well," I drawled. "Look who's here."

Dan jumped, badly startled. He had to be pretty distracted for me to sneak up on him like that. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I might grab a beer or two." I waved at the bartender. "Hey, Moki. Can I get a beer over here?" I yelled, just a bit too loudly.

"Uh, y-yeah... S-sure, Magnum," stuttered Moki, looking nervously toward the front door and trying to catch Rick's eye.

I turned my attention to Dan. "Haven't seen you in a while, _buddy._ You avoiding me, now that I'm not part of the sailor boy club? What, am I not good enough to hang around with any more?" My voice was still too loud.

Dan grabbed my elbow. "C'mon, Thomas, let me take you home." His embarrassment wasn't a show; I was being pretty obnoxious.

I pulled free. "No! I'm gonna sit here and have a beer! Hey, Moki, what's taking so long?" Moki glanced to his left, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Rick and one of his guys barreling across the room.

"Thomas, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" Rick hissed as he reached my side.

"Having a beer with my _buddy._ Right, Dan?" I weaved unsteadily despite the fact that I was sitting.

Rick glared at Dan. "I didn't know he was coming over here!" protested Dan.

I stood up slowly. "Ohhh, so you _are_ avoiding me!" I planted my palm in the middle of Dan's chest and shoved hard. "What are you, one of _Cooly's_ boys now?"

Dan jumped to his feet and shoved back. "Get outta here, Magnum!"

"That's enough, Thomas," Rick whispered loudly. He was trying to keep the situation from escalating, but he was fuming. "Don't make me throw you out of here. Leave. Now!"

"First I want an answer to my question. You one of Cooly's boys now, _Danny?_" I taunted. "Jump when he says to? Make sure you kiss his ass every day?"

That was too much for Dan, even though he had to figure I was making it up. He landed a pretty good punch to my jaw and I reared back to return the favor when Rick's bouncer grabbed my arm and Rick stepped between us.

"Magnum, that's enough! Now get outta here before I call the cops!"

"Fine," I spat. "You want me out of your lives? Your oh-so-perfect damned lives?" I reached past Rick and shoved Dan again. "You, with your officer's club, and your daddy, the admiral?" I poked Rick in the chest. "And you, with your snooty nightclub? You've been stickin' your nose where it doesn't belong -- in _my business!_" I saw hurt in both men's eyes. "The hell with both of you! I don't need either one of you! Stay the _hell_ out of my life!!" I stared hard into Dan's eyes, desperately willing him to see what I was doing, convince Rick that I wasn't worth his time, and assure Greene that Rick was no longer a threat to the operation.

The bouncer cocked his head in warning as I yanked my arm free. "Don't..." I snapped. "I'm _leaving._"

"Now what?" muttered Rick as a commotion broke out at the other end of the bar.

A slim, blond man about my age, wearing a very expensive silk shirt, perfectly tailored trousers, and a gold Rolex gripped the wrist of an equally elegantly dressed woman. "Whaddya mean 'no'?"

"I said I'm not interested, Adrian!" she protested. "Now let me go!"

"Oh, but I _am_ interested, Kitty," he oozed as he placed his other hand on her nicely-shaped rear end and drew her close to his side.

She pulled back just far enough to deliver a good slap to his face. I grabbed his arm just as he started to slap her back. I wasn't going to let this jerk hurt anyone, even if it did interrupt my plan. Surprised, he let her go and turned on me. "Just who the _hell_ do you think you are?" he snarled. "Don't _touch_ me! Nobody _touches_ me!!"

He was pure, arrogant mainland tourist material. One of the reasons I usually avoided Waikiki nightlife. "My name isn't important, but I'm the guy who's going to keep you from bothering this lady any more tonight."

He roared incoherently and swung at me. I blocked the punch without any trouble, twisted his arm behind him, and shoved him toward Rick's bouncers. This wasn't a guy who was used to fighting his own battles. Not with his fists, anyway.

"Get him outta here!" ordered Rick.

As the bouncers dragged the man away, the woman named Kitty slid close to my side and looked me up and down appreciatively. "Thank you," she murmured with a seductive smile. "Adrian and I are acquainted through our yacht club, back in New York, and he seems to think he has some claim to me." She offered her hand. "My name is Katherine St. Pierre, but all my friends call me Kitty."

I shook her hand gently. "Nice to meet you Ms. St. Pierre. I'm Thomas Magnum."

"And he was just leaving," interrupted Rick.

I shot him a dirty look. "And I was just leaving," I repeated to Kitty with a half smile as I let go of her hand and turned toward the door.

She caught my arm. "Actually, it's getting a little late, and I really should be going. Would you be so kind as to walk me to my car?"

"We can take care of that for you, Ms. St. Pierre," insisted Rick, flashing a megawatt smile and desperately trying to regain control of the situation.

"No," said Kitty, once again looking me over with barely concealed lust. "I would prefer Mr. Magnum walk me to my car." There seemed little doubt she intended I get in the car with her, and I wasn't quite sure whether to be flattered or annoyed by her presumption.

I smirked at Rick, whose smile had disappeared again, and offered Kitty my arm. "Of course." She latched her hand to the crook of my elbow and we turned toward the door.

"Magnum, you stay outta my place, you hear me?!" Rick yelled after us. I batted the air dismissively without turning my head. I could only hope I'd been successful in driving my friend away.

Kitty didn't just have a car; Kitty had a limousine, complete with driver. I also noticed that she was wearing a _very_ expensive diamond necklace and earrings. She caught me staring, laughed, and tossed her head, swinging her long, dark hair. "Yes, I'm rich. Filthy rich. I inherited a fortune from Daddy, and I love to play."

When we reached the open door of the limo I removed her hand from my arm and squeezed it gently. "Good night, it was nice meeting you," I said. I had to get back to bar hopping.

She tightened her hand around mine and placed her other hand on my chest. "So why does it have to be 'good night?' Come with me." Her eyes were smoldering.

"Oh, I dunno," I hedged. I didn't think this was the best idea to get involved with anyone, even as her temporary plaything. On the other hand, I had no idea who might be watching, and if I was trying to cultivate the image of a drunken bad-boy, turning down an invitation from a rich, stunningly beautiful woman would have been a lousy way to go about it.

She slowly licked her lips and tilted her head coyly to one side. "Please?" She pouted as she ran her perfectly manicured fingernails lightly down my abdomen.

I drew in a sharp breath. "Well, when you put it that way..." _Guess I'll have to play this one out, after all..._ I gestured toward the limo, helped her in, and climbed in beside her.

It didn't take long to realize that we were leaving Honolulu. "Aren't we going to your hotel?"

She laughed. "I don't stay at hotels. We're going to Robin's Nest."

"Huh?"

She laughed at my confusion. "Robin Masters' estate."

I was suitably impressed. I knew the famous author had a home here in the islands, but I had no idea where it was. Forty minutes later, we slid through the gate of a waterfront estate on the windward side. Even in the dark, I didn't miss the late-model Ferrari sitting at the end of the long driveway. _Sure would like to get my hands on one of those._

Kitty took my hand and led me to a small cottage on the property. Soon, the Ferrari was one of the very last things on my mind.

**xxxxxxx**

I pulled one last smooth stroke through the warm salt water and flipped over on my back, floating and letting the early morning sunshine bake my face. I was still finding it hard to absorb what had happened with Buck the previous night. How could I have been so blind? Had I really let the fact that we both lost our fathers cloud my judgment? I was embarrassed that I'd ignored my friends' warnings and been taken in by the colonel, but more than that, I was tremendously angry and deeply hurt by what Greene had done.

The sound of a voice coming from the direction of the beach interrupted my despondent review of my soured relationship with my mentor. I stood up in the waist-deep tidal pool and wiped water from my eyes.

"You there! Who are you, and what do you think you are doing?" shouted a short, rotund man flanked by two growling Dobermans.

"Who, me?" I asked innocently.

"Of _course_, you! Who else could I _possibly_ be addressing?" he demanded in a stuffy British accent. "This is a _private_ estate!"

"Well, see, I can explain..." I shouted back, without moving a single step. I was hoping the dogs didn't like water.

"Calm down, Higgins," Kitty called out as she strolled from the lawn onto the beach. "I found him, and he looked lost, so I brought him home." She was wrapped in a thick, luxurious robe and her hair was still wet from a shower.

"Don't mind Higgins," she shouted with a smile. "He kind of takes care of things around here for Robin, and he takes it all _way_ too seriously." She turned back to the man. "Don't you, Higgy? What's that stuffy title you insist on using?"

"_Ma_jor... _Do_mo..." The man named Higgins enunciated each syllable with clipped precision, trembling with fury as Kitty sauntered past him to the water's edge. She was obviously one of Robin Masters' more valued guests, judging by the fact that the little man was clearly swallowing several nasty comments he would have loved to sling at her.

"Thomas, darling, whatever are you doing up so early?"

"Oh, I dunno." I grinned self-consciously. "A swim sounded good, and the tidal pool looked kinda tempting."

"A swim does sound good, doesn't it?" She glanced slyly over her shoulder at Higgins. Then, locking her eyes with mine, she slid the robe off her shoulders and glided into the water.

"**_Miss St. Pierre!!"_** Somewhere on the edge of my consciousness, I heard the guttural howl of protest from the butler, or major ... whatever ... but I was far too busy trying to pick my jaw back up off the sand to be too concerned about him. In a moment, Kitty stood in front of me, stretching up on tiptoe to wrap her suntanned arms around my neck, her face just inches from mine.

"Or maybe we'll save the swim for later?" she purred.

I wasn't even sure my voice would work. "Sure," I managed to croak. "Later..." I wrapped my arms around her as she ran her fingers through my hair, our lips meeting in a long, deep kiss that stole what little breath I had left. _Much later._

**xxxxxxx**

My time as a plaything came to an end sooner than I would have liked; it was indeed a one night stand. Kitty had to catch an afternoon flight back to her well-heeled east coast society life, and I had to return to making a bad name for myself in Honolulu. She went to the main house to say goodbye to Robin Masters while I lounged lazily against the side of the limousine, once again admiring the Ferrari parked nearby. I felt kind of sorry for the car. I couldn't imagine that it was driven much, and it seemed a shame to have it just sitting there. I had a hard time picturing the little majordomo behind the wheel; the Audi parked nearby seemed more his style.

Kitty walked from the house accompanied by a second person. I assumed it was Higgins, but when I took a closer look, I realized that I was about to meet Robin Masters. _Great, I'm wearing a bathing suit and a tank top, and I haven't shaved in a week._ I pushed away from the limo.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Magnum." His voice was deeper than I expected, but he was dressed in the same sort of blazer, slacks, and loafers outfit that I'd seen in book jacket pictures. A little overdressed for Hawaii, I thought.

_How does he know my name? Kitty, I suppose._ "Ah, hello... Mr. Masters... It's ah... It's very nice to meet you. I'm a big fan; I've read every one of your books." I was babbling like a star struck idiot and I knew I had a stupid grin on my face, but I couldn't help myself.

"Call me Robin. I understand you rescued my guest from a rather unpleasant situation last night. I wanted to thank you."

"Aw, it was no trouble," I mumbled self-consciously.

""Kitty dear, do me a favor, please. I left my book on the chair by the front door. Run inside and get it, will you?" I wondered why he was getting rid of her.

"Where did you get that scar?" he asked when she was out of earshot.

My smile disappeared as I reached up and rubbed my shoulder. "It's a little souvenir from Vietnam."

He nodded. "I thought it might be. The Teams..."

It was a statement, not a question. I peered hard at him, wondering what he was up to. "Yes, but how did you know that?"

"Higgins may be stuffy, but he's very thorough, and very protective of me and my guests. He had you checked out."

_Checked out??_ I was still gaping at him when his face widened into a sly grin and he abruptly changed the subject. "I assume that Kitty has already thanked you in her own, ah, _unique_ way..." He chuckled as I felt my face turn crimson. "I thought so."

Kitty returned and handed the book to Masters. He took an expensive-looking fountain pen out of his pocket and wrote inside the front cover. "A little something for your trouble," he said as he handed the book to me.

_Magnum, thank you for your service. I am in your debt. Robin Masters._ "Wow!" The stupid grin was back. "A first edition of _Tahiti Kill??_ I love this one!"

"Good. You may see more of it. My agent is talking to Hollywood." Robin smiled, turned to Kitty, and kissed the back of her hand. "It's been a pleasure my dear, as always. Please return soon."

Kitty glanced at me from under hooded eyelids and returned the other man's smile. "Robin, darling, I meet the most _fascinating_ people when I visit you here in paradise. How could I help but return just as _soon_ as possible."

He extended his hand to me. "Again, thank you."

"Thank _you_, Mister, ah, Robin."

"One thing," he added as I turned toward the limo. "It's really none of my business, but you're wasting your many talents picking bar fights in Honolulu."

I nodded sheepishly. "I'll keep that in mind." I was hoping that Morgan Lyden would soon be thinking along those same lines. It was time to get back to work.

**xxxxxxx**

_13 June 1979_

After the altercation at Rick's and the night at Robin's Nest, it took me several more weeks to fully cultivate the picture of a drunken, disgruntled former naval officer. During that time, I'd been completely out of touch with anyone from the Navy. Rick had never been busted for drugs, so I could only assume I'd successfully driven him away and Dan had convinced Greene that Rick was no longer a threat.

Lately I'd begun dropping hints that I was available for the kinds of work an ex-SEAL might be suited for. I was dirty and unshaven, and hanging out in the type of bars where I would inevitably end up in a fight. One of the fights finally got far enough out of hand that it landed me in the HPD lockup. I was sitting in a cell rubbing a hand over my swollen eye when I heard a key clink in the lock. I tried to look disinterested as I glanced up at my visitor. McGarrett. At this point, I really wasn't in the mood, undercover operation or not.

He stood and stared in disgust. "You had promise," he spat. I figured his presence meant that at least one or two of the guys who'd been locked up in the four hours I'd been sitting there were close enough to Lyden that we could reasonably assume he would hear about whatever happened next.

"Go to hell!" I shouted loudly enough for everyone in the place to hear me. I leaped to my feet, the tendons in my neck popping taut. "Screw you! All of you! You, and Cooly, and Admiral Hawkes..." I let pain creep into my voice. "And Dan..."

McGarrett poked me in the chest. "Dan Cook tried to help you!"

I was tired and drunk, and I'd had about enough of him. Something snapped. I pushed his hand away, grabbed him by the neck and shoved him back against the bars. "Don't you talk to me about Dan Cook!" My voice was up a full octave, and I felt like I was watching someone else. I'd completely lost control. "Dan Cook and I went through things together that you can't _begin_ to understand!"

I never heard the cell door open, and it barely registered that a couple of big HPD officers had dragged me away from McGarrett. I pulled one arm free and took a swing at one of them, just before a third rammed a nightstick into my gut and I dropped like a rock. I struggled to catch my breath as they slammed me to the floor on my belly, cuffed my hands behind me, and hauled me back to my feet.

McGarrett was furious, and off the original script as much as I was. "You'd be surprised to know just how much I understand," he snarled. It occurred to me that he was right. I'd forgotten he'd been a POW in Korea. He probably understood a lot of things. "Now _sit down,_ and _cool off!_"

I gulped for air as the officers plunked me down the cell's hard bench. While our little altercation had injected added realism to the interaction, it was time to get back to business. "All of you were so sure you knew who I was?" I croaked. "News flash..." I paused and swallowed hard. "You were wrong."

McGarrett's face twisted with pity. "Damn it, Magnum... Let me get you some help."

"I don't want your help. I don't _need_ your help! Go to hell..." My voice broke as I flung one last epithet at him and dropped my chin to my chest, the picture of a broken-down, damaged Vietnam vet. Ripe fruit, ready for Lyden to pick. I was pretty sure word of my mental and physical tailspin would find its way to him before too long.

**xxxxxxx**

I wasn't as drunk as I looked and sounded, but I also wasn't completely sober. It's hard not to get at least a little buzzed when you sit in a bar sucking down beer all day.

After a night in an HPD holding cell, I'd been brought before a judge and arraigned on a variety of charges (all of which would quietly disappear), then released on bail.

I'd stopped by my apartment and taken a much-needed shower before heading back to my haunts in Honolulu. I'd been back at it for nearly a week, and was looking pretty rough again.

I was bored and impatient, waiting for something to happen, but all I could do was set the scene and wait for Lyden to come to me. I tipped my head back and drained my fifth, or was it sixth, beer of the day, though it was barely past noon. The bartender set a fresh one in front of me. "Magnum, you see that guy sitting in the booth way in the back?" he asked quietly.

I glanced sideways. It was Lyden. He hadn't come in the front door. I wasn't so buzzed that I'd lost my ability to keep track of who was around me...

"Yeah?"

"He wants to talk to you."

"So what? Who is he? Cop or something?"

"No, brah, I don't think so. Cop wouldn't have slipped me a twenty to make sure you get your ass over there, yah?"

"What's he want?"

"No idea. C'mon, brah, just go talk to the guy."

"Why should I?" I grumbled.

He grinned slyly. "Because if you do, I'll make today's bar tab disappear. Magic. Okay?"

I grinned in spite of myself. "Okay. What could it hurt?"

I sauntered over to the booth and stood staring at Lyden. "Have a seat, Magnum," he said evenly.

"Don't know that I'm staying long enough to bother... Who are you, how do you know my name, and what do you want?"

"My name is Morgan Lyden, and I have a business proposition for you." Even if I had known nothing about him before, I would have gleaned one critical piece of information from his tone of voice and the way he carried himself; this was one very, very dangerous man.

I shrugged, narrowed my eyes, and plopped down across the table from him. Phase one was complete. I'd attracted his attention. But up until now it had all been play-acting, and up until now I could have called it off and walked away. Now came the hard part ... the dangerous part. I was hoping he couldn't see how hard my heart was pounding.

"What kind of business?" I asked lazily. "I'm kinda busy these days." I lifted my beer and took a long swallow. "You still haven't told me how you know my name, and I'm not sure I'm interested in a working with you." I paused. "Especially if you're the same Lyden who was dealing on the black market in Vietnam, and you're still working with the same kind of scum you did back then..."

Lyden grinned, then chuckled. "Very good, Mr. Magnum. But my standards have risen since then. I've upgraded my merchandise. I deal only in high-grade weapons, and I sell only to people who I know can pay. Fortunately, there are still plenty of men out there who have their reasons for setting up their own private armies. They appreciate me; I never take sides. I give them what they need and stay out of their business."

"You still haven't answered my question. How do you know who I am?"

He held up an index finger. "All in good time." He reached out and grabbed the rear end of a passing waitress. She stopped without blinking an eye; in this dive it was par for the course. "Burger and fries, times two, honey."

"Sure," she answered. "Another beer?"

"No," Lyden answered. "Two cokes." I raised an eyebrow at him; he raised his eyebrow right back at me. "Time to get you sobered up. In answer to your question, Thomas Sullivan Magnum, I know more about you than your mother does..."

Maybe it was his tone of voice, or maybe it was the fact that he used almost the same wording that the KGB interrogator, Ivan, had used when I was a POW at Duc Hue, but I felt like I'd been hit by a jolt of electricity. I was playing with fire, with the very real possibility of getting burned, and I felt a cold, hard lump forming way down deep in my belly.

Lyden smiled. "Don't look at me like I'm some kind of ghost. I really do know all about you. Let's see... May 1969..."

My gut tightened. _That can't be a coincidence._

He nodded. "Uh-huh, I know about that operation. And July 1971..."

_Oh, my God... No one is supposed to know about those operations..._

I knew my jaw was clenched, and my eyes must have narrowed, because he looked like a cat playing with a mouse. All I could think of was how glad I was that we'd decided to use my real name and identity. He'd have seen right through an alias, and I'd be as dead as the last guy who'd tried this stunt.

"I even had my eye on you in 'Nam for a while. You and Cook, both. I figured if I could corrupt a couple of wide-eyed ensigns, I'd be all set for merchandise. But you were too straight-arrow, both of you. However," he paused and cocked his head, "I've heard things have changed..."

"Maybe..."

"I was surprised you didn't pull chocks when the Navy forced you to leave Saigon the day your wife was killed."

My throat tightened. "Michelle..." How did he know about her? I emptied my beer in one long gulp.

"Tough break. You never forgave them for ordering you out, did you?"

_Damn him, he's good at this._ I knew what he was doing, building rapport, but even so... No one had ever asked me that question before, and it dredged up lots of bitter emotions. "No, _dammit_."

"How'd you like the chance for a little payback?"

I felt something stir way deep inside, in a place I didn't like. _Hell, yeah, I'd like some payback._ I tried to stuff the thought into an even darker corner of my consciousness, where I wouldn't be able to find it again.

"Why me?" I asked blearily. "I'm not such a good risk right now."

"I think you are. You just gotta lay off the booze and you'll be fine. I like your style. You strike me as the kind of man to whom loyalty still means something, and that's hard to find any more. I'm looking for an Operations Officer I can trust, someone who knows how to lead men. I need a man of your talents."

"You mean you still need someone who can get you past the feds and the military."

"That, too."

I narrowed my eyes and smirked coldly. "Well, you know," I drawled, "the authorities aren't some of my favorite people at the moment."

Lyden smiled back. "No, I didn't figure so."

I widened my grin, aiming for a wolfish look. "It _would_ be nice to get some payback. Are you the guy who can make that happen?"

**xxxxxxx**

Lyden had directed me to be at Ala Moana Beach Park at five-thirty the next morning with all my gear. It was deserted at that hour, so when a car pulled up beside me I figured it was my ride. "You Magnum?" demanded the driver, a big man in his late twenties who looked like he was about two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle. I nodded. "Get in," he grunted.

We drove in silence to an empty field in Ewa where a helicopter sat waiting, its rotors spinning. After a wordless ride into the morning sun, the pilot set the chopper down in a remote part of the Big Island. From McGarrett's briefing, I knew this was Lyden's compound, but we had very little information about it except its location. _That's because the only agent who ever got inside is dead,_ I reminded myself grimly.

Lyden and another man met me as I stepped out of the chopper. Lyden extended his hand. "Welcome." I returned the handshake as he continued with introductions. "Thomas Magnum, Jack Barker, my Second-in-Command."

_Second-in-Command? What the hell? Nothing like a few surprises along the way..._ I eyed the man warily as he gave me the same treatment. Barker was about six-two and powerfully built; he weighed about two-twenty, but didn't have an ounce of body fat on him. A camouflage cap covered his close-cropped red hair, and although he was gray at the temples, he could have passed for a lot younger than the late forties I knew he had to be. His rugged face was lined and leathery from years in the sun; his jaw muscles rippled and his thin lips were pressed hard together, the corners turned down in an unwelcoming scowl. His deep-set, beady blue eyes gave him the appearance of a watchful rodent. I could see distrust in those eyes; he didn't so easily believe that I'd turn my back on the Navy. Lyden's Second-in-Command definitely wasn't happy to see me.

Barker extended a meaty hand and we shook wordlessly as Lyden glanced back and forth between the two of us. "But I see you two already know each other."

I knew him, all right, but the last time I'd seen him, he was still _Colonel_ Jack Barker, a Green Beret I'd run into during my second tour in 'Nam. I was surprised to see him working for Lyden; Barker wasn't a man who liked playing second fiddle to anyone. He had a reputation for being brilliant, cunning, and tough as nails, but he was also a loose cannon, always pushing the edge of the envelope. Orders and regulations were nothing more than suggestions to him.

"Thomas Magnum. Never expected to see you in a place like this. As I recall, you were a lifer."

"Mad Jack Barker..." I let the old nickname hang in the air for a second, then shrugged nonchalantly. "Things change. Can't say I ever expected to see you again, either. Figured you'd be a general by now."

He shot me a chilling smile. "Things change." His face hardened. "The Army got rid of me," he continued bitterly. "Some bullshit about misuse of government funds and equipment. They slapped me with a letter of reprimand and 'allowed' me to retire. What about you? How did the Academy golden boy end up here?"

I scowled. "Admin sep. Some made-up bullshit about unfitness for duty. What the hell, I'd had enough of their crap, anyway."

"Your buddy Cook's daddy couldn't save you?"

I ground my teeth together and narrowed my eyes. "My buddy... Shit... Asshole never tried. Hung me out to dry. Doesn't matter, they'll get what's coming to them. I'll cost them more than they ever imagined. I'm about to become their worst nightmare."

Barker smiled coldly. He still didn't trust me, and I was going to have to watch him carefully. This was going to be even harder than I'd anticipated.

"Since you two already know each other," interrupted Lyden, "let's go meet everyone else."

We walked over to a group of men assembled in what looked like a training area. From the looks I was getting from the group, I knew I wasn't welcome. At least a couple of them had probably hoped for the job that Lyden had offered to me. But these guys looked like they were mostly muscle, and despite the fact that Hawaii was a pretty decent ethnic mixing bowl, every one of them was white. No surprise; Lyden had always made it clear that he was a racist.

Lyden beckoned to one man. "Johnny, c'mere." It was a stretch to call Johnny a man. He couldn't have been more than nineteen or twenty, a skinny punk street kid who didn't seem to have any of the special skills Lyden would consider important. I figured him for an errand boy.

"M-me?" the young man stuttered, his eyes filling with fear. It wasn't a good thing to be singled out by the boss, especially when you knew you were just a little guy in the operation.

"Yeah, Johnny, you. C'mere," Lyden repeated quietly, beckoning again.

Johnny managed to cover the ground between himself and Lyden despite the fact that it looked like his knees were suddenly made out of jello. Lyden slung an arm around the kid's shoulders, but the show of phony camaraderie only added to the tension.

"Magnum, I want you to meet Johnny." From the tone of Lyden's voice, I didn't think I'd be getting to know Johnny very well. "He's been a naughty boy. Someone's been stealing money, haven't you Johnny?"

"N-no, Boss! Wasn't me! Swear to God, wasn't me!!"

It didn't really matter whether or not it was true. Lyden said it was true. "You know," Lyden continued in a sinister voice, "we live by a code here. Stealing from the others violates that code." He drew a gun from his shoulder holster.

Stark terror filled Johnny's eyes as he pulled loose from Lyden's grip. "You talkin' lolo! No wen cockaroach da kine!!" he babbled.

"Speak English!" Lyden snapped. I already knew what was coming. Lyden held the gun out to me on his open palm. "Magnum, take care of business, please." _Please..._ It sounded so civil...

Johnny turned his attention to me as I took the gun from Lyden. "I didn't do nothin'... Please..." he begged, his eyes wide with panic. Same word, but now it sounded raw, savage. Now it was nothing more than a plea for survival.

Barker was watching me like a hawk. I curled my lip into a mirthless smile and looked at the gun in my hand, and then at Lyden. He looked smug -- way too smug for me. Like he was sure he knew what had to happen next. To everyone's surprise, I tucked the gun in my belt at the small of my back. Johnny's face sagged with relief -- until I wrenched his arm up behind him and reached around to grab his face, preparing to snap his neck.

"Whaddya want, Lyden?" My voice was ice cold. "You want me to kill him to prove something to you? What? That I can kill? Or live under your code? That I can follow orders?

"Let me tell you something." I narrowed my eyes and fought to keep my breathing even. "I prefer to have a reason when I kill a man." Johnny whimpered as I twisted his head until his neck was just a hair from snapping. "I already understand your code. I've put my life in other men's hands, and held their lives in mine. You want me to prove I can kill, or do you just wanna see ruthless?"

I locked eyes with Lyden. Without so much as a flicker of emotion on my face, I slammed Johnny's arm upwards until I felt his shoulder rip loose. While he screamed in pain, I spun him around and kneed him in the groin. And when he doubled over, I rammed the same knee up into his face, feeling his nose crunch to pieces.

Johnny crumpled into a groaning, semi-conscious heap while I pulled the gun from my waistband. My eyes flashing with anger, I took two quick steps, grabbed another man around the neck from behind, and put the gun to his temple. The man was Ray LeFevre, one of Lyden's lieutenants and an important middleman in the weapons deals.

"But if it's killing you want, I can kill this one," I spat. I could feel LeFevre's pulse pounding in his neck. I prayed that McGarrett hadn't underestimated the man's importance to Lyden's operation.

Lyden thought about it for a few heart-stopping moments. "No," he finally said quietly. "We need him." The unspoken _'for now'_ was almost tangible, and the message was unmistakable: everyone was expendable.

I dropped the gun from LeFevre's head and handed it to back Lyden, butt first. "You're in charge, I'll follow your orders. That's how it works," I growled. "But don't ask me to play games to prove who I am. You need me way more than I need you."

Lyden stared hard into my eyes then nodded once, sharply. Then he turned and calmly ended Johnny's suffering by putting a bullet in his head.

I had known from the second Lyden singled him out that Johnny was a dead man. Much as the waste of any life sickened me, I was just glad it wasn't by my hand. I could stalk an enemy far behind his own lines for days and kill him with a single shot from half a mile away without thinking about it too much, but killing a man this way, without a reason, would have taken my moral compass way too far off course.

I had also reminded myself how very easy it can be for a good man to be ruthless. All he has to do is open that door to the dark side of his nature. The door most decent people keep tightly closed and locked. It's living with it afterward that's the hard part.

**xxxxxxx**

There were about twenty men living at Lyden's ranch, or operations center, as he preferred to call it. He'd put together an impressive fortress, complete with a jet, a couple of helicopters, an assortment of trucks, and an arsenal of weapons. It was remote enough that no one was likely to bother us there. Good thing, because anyone who did stumble across it would probably end up dead. The entire perimeter was saturated with mines and booby traps backed up by sentries with shoot-on-sight orders. Lyden definitely didn't want company.

There was a rhythm to life there that I understood well. Reveille was at oh-five-thirty, followed by a couple of hours of PT that would have killed some men. I considered myself to be in good shape, but I could barely keep up. Barker was more than ten years older than me, but he didn't have any trouble at all...

After morning chow, we spent the morning in firearms training, ate lunch, and then used the afternoon to practice for specific operations. After another round of PT, then supper, I was more than ready to crash for the night.

The environment brought a flood of familiar memories. Men banding together, focused on a mission, even an illegal mission, brought a familiar sense of belonging and purpose. It was something that had been missing in the three years since I'd left the Teams. The knowledge that one misstep on my part could result in my death completed the illusion of being in a war zone. With each passing day, I felt more and more a part of this group. I hoped I could complete the operation quickly, before I forgot whose side I was on.

Holidays brought no break in the training cycle. It was July 4th, but we'd already been for a ten mile run and were busy loading gear into a truck for the next evolution. I was in a particularly foul mood. Even in the middle of a war, I'd managed to spend the 4th alone. It was my day to remember my dad -- it belonged to me, damn it, and it pissed me off to have it stolen. "Sorry, Dad."

"What?" asked the man next to me.

Damn, I didn't realize I'd said it out loud. "Nothing." I grabbed one end of a footlocker. "Gimme a hand with this."

**xxxxxxx**

I was in a holding pattern again. I'd made it inside Lyden's operation, now I had to wait for something to happen. The waiting was getting under my skin.

One evening in mid-July, Lyden pulled Barker and me aside. "We're going to hit a supply depot on Oahu," he announced. "My sources tell me there are grenades, LAWs and brand-new M-16s for the taking." He chuckled. "We'll walk away with the weapons and leave the sentries tied up like Christmas presents for someone to find in the morning."

"Why not kill them?" I asked, going out on a limb.

"Because if we kill them," he explained, "the military will hunt us down, number one, and number two, it'll be all over the TV and newspapers, and every damned cop wanna-be in the islands will be helping them look for us. If we just leave the sentries tied up it'll never make the news, because the Army will be too embarrassed to let it. They'll keep everything nice and quiet while they start searching for the weapons, which will be long gone."

I nodded slowly. "Okay, I can live with that. When do we go?"

"Tomorrow night. You pick the team. Jack's going with you."

_Well, of **course** Jack's going with me. How else are you going to keep an eye on me?_ I would have done the same thing if I'd been in Lyden's shoes.

**xxxxxxx**

The sentries never knew what hit them. They were well trained, but completely outclassed. They never saw us coming, never heard a thing. Each put up a brief struggle as an arm snaked around his neck from behind and choked him into unconsciousness. Each would wake up later with his hands and feet tightly tied and his mouths taped shut. I wondered if they would even realize how lucky they were to be alive. It would have taken us a lot less time to jam a knife into the base of each man's brain.

In less than fifteen minutes we had disappeared into the darkness with our merchandise.

**xxxxxxx**

_22 July 1979_

Sundays we usually had a lighter training schedule than the rest of the week, not because Lyden thought Sunday was different from any other day, but because he recognized that the human body performs better when it gets a certain amount of rest. On this Sunday, we were taking a little extra time BS-ing over lunch. I had tuned out the chatter coming from the radio, but when Lyden suddenly reached over and turned up the volume, I realized I'd just heard something about "Five-0."

"Williams remains hospitalized at this hour, reportedly seriously injured after being kidnapped by Richard Sanderson, a convicted child molester recently released from prison after serving fifteen years of a thirty year sentence. Sanderson and two others were killed early this morning when Five-0 and HPD raided the abandoned sugar mill in Ewa where Williams was being held captive. Steve McGarrett, the Five-0 chief, declined to be interviewed, and hospital officials refused to comment on Williams' condition, but a hospital source speaking on the condition of anonymity has informed us that the Five-0 detective is in extremely critical condition."

Lyden flicked the radio off and chuckled. "Cop might die. Damn shame." I tried hard to keep my face neutral, but I must have shown more concern than I intended. "Friend of yours?" he asked sharply.

"Used to be. A long time ago." I shrugged and continued bitterly. "But it's amazing how many people disappear the second you run into trouble. I hope the bastard buys it."

"Just want to make sure you know where your loyalties lay."

I looked at him sharply. "I thought I already made that pretty clear."

Lyden slapped me on the back. "That you did! Let's get back to work."

I nodded, but something way down inside was once again reminding me why I hated undercover work. My stomach started to churn all over again.

**xxxxxxx**

By the end of July, I'd been on the Big Island for six weeks, and I hadn't left compound at all except for training runs and the hit on the armory. Lyden and Barker would disappear for a few days at a time, either together or separately, and once in a while visitors with names like Pablo and Roberto -- never any last names -- would arrive on the ranch's remote airstrip late at night and depart before dawn.

As the weeks passed, I assessed each of Lyden's men. Some of them were just trying to make a buck. Some of them had fought in 'Nam and in other hell-holes, and couldn't adjust to a peaceful world. All of them needed or wanted the money Lyden offered. For the most part, they weren't evil men, just totally misguided. Some of them weren't bad guys. I even liked one or two.

At least four days a week, we ran ten miles to the beach to swim a couple of miles. I knew if Greene and McGarrett were going to try to make contact, it would have to be here, away from the ranch, but so far they hadn't made the attempt.

One of the few guys I thought I could have been friends with under other circumstances fell into step beside me during one of our runs. "I like you Magnum. You seem like a straight shooter," he said quietly. He glanced sideways at me and then stared straight ahead. "I don't know what you did to piss off Barker, but you better watch your six."

I looked sharply at him. "Huh? Why?!"

"He told Lyden he thinks you're a plant, and he's got guys keeping an eye you. You're liable to have an accident, if you know what I mean..."

I felt adrenaline begin to flow. "When? How? Who's watching me?" I glanced over my shoulder involuntarily. "And why are you telling me this? Don't you think I'm a plant?"

"Shit, no. You're one of us. I can smell a cop a mile away. I'd kill you myself if I thought that was the deal. No idea what they've got planned, and I don't know who 'they' are, but I though you oughtta know."

"Shit," I muttered. "Thanks," I added after a few more moments.

"No sweat," he replied. "I don't like Barker. One of his asinine schemes got a buddy of mine killed in 'Nam. I hope you can take him out."

We finished the run in silence I tried to figure out what to do next.

**xxxxxxx**

_3 August 1979_

One of the many drills we ran again and again was the takeover of a small freighter. Lyden had had a full sized mockup of a bridge and superstructure built at the compound.

"What exactly is aboard that ship?" I asked during one of our evening planning sessions.

Lyden smiled. "MANPADs. Stolen SA-7's. Worth a small fortune."

_Shit._ I smiled back. "Sounds like a nice haul. But how do you know where the ship will be?"

"Simple. I paid off the ship's purser, a man named Pablo. Greedy little bastard. Told him he could have everything in the ship's safe. He has a radio, and he'll be calling in a position within the next few days."

"Are we sure he'll make the call?" asked Barker.

"I added some insurance; made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Told him we'd keep

an eye on his dear old mother for him while he was gone, just to make sure nothing happened to her." Lyden smiled evilly. "He'll make the call."

Three mornings later, Lyden called us all together after breakfast. "The freighter is in range; we're going after it tonight." He pointed to LeFevre. "Ray, pick three men to stay here with you and keep an eye on things. The rest of you make sure your gear is ready."

**xxxxxxx**

I was as nervous as hell as we approached the freighter in our small boats. I knew if Barker were going to kill me, this was the place he'd do it. It'd be easy to make it look like an accident, or like someone aboard the ship took me out.

We split into two teams: my team would take the bridge, and Barker's team would secure the engine room. All of my senses were hyper-alert. Being aboard a ship made me feel confined, and I'd never liked it. The steel under my feet, the close quarters, the stink of stale cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies --- all of it combined to give me a nasty case of claustrophobia. Never mind the fact that any of a number of people aboard might try to kill me.

The crew of the freighter was even more outclassed than the armory's sentries had been. But unlike the sentries, the crewmembers were dead. We worked our way through the ship, silently killing everyone in our path. We had control of the bridge, and I knew Barker's team had reached the engine room a minute or so later, when the ship's forward motion began to slow.

The captain charged onto the bridge moments later. "Garcia, what the bloody _hell_ is going on?? Why the hell are we slowing..." he stopped short when he realized that Garcia was lying on the deck with his eyes staring into oblivion.

"Your ship is mine, Captain. Your cargo is mine," said Lyden. "Quint, Drummond..." He pointed at the captain, then jerked his thumb back over his shoulder.

"No, please! I'll give you whatever you want! Please!!" screamed the panicked captain as Lyden's men grabbed him and dragged him off the bridge. The screaming continued for the few seconds it took them to reach the bridge wing, where there was the barely-audible 'pffft' of a silenced pistol followed by a splash.

"Quint?" shouted Lyden.

The man appeared on the bridge. "Sir?"

"Get below, help take care of the rest of the crew, and start setting charges."

"Aye, sir."

"Drummond, Prentice," continued Lyden, "you two stay here."

Lyden turned to Pablo, who had squeezed himself into the back in the corner of the bridge as though he were trying to become invisible. He hadn't expected to see the carnage that had gone on around him.

"Pablo?" Lyden looked like a cat about to bag a mouse, or maybe a shark eyeing a seal might have been more appropriate. Instantly, I wished I'd thought of a different analogy. "Let's go get that safe. Thomas, with us."

Pablo led the way and I brought up the rear as we reentered the maze that was the ship's superstructure. My little voice was telling me I was in danger, but even walking backwards I didn't see anyone following. Lyden wasn't concerned about an ambush, because he knew that most of the crew was already dead. He turned his head to say something to me, and from there everything started moving in slow motion.

"Magnum!!"

I had no idea what Lyden had seen, no idea what direction the danger was coming from. On the theory that any movement would help, I threw myself sideways against the bulkhead as I heard a distinctive 'pffft'. A bright white starburst exploded behind my eyes, and I felt like I'd been hit in the head with a baseball bat. I heard my gun clatter to the deck as I crashed against the bulkhead, desperately trying to convince my rubbery legs to hold me up. I shook my head in a futile effort to clear my vision, but all that did was make the world spin in tighter circles. I still felt like I was watching a movie in slow motion. I reached for the gun in my ankle holster with one hand while I scrubbed my other hand over my eyes, trying to wipe away the sweat that was pouring down my face and blurring my vision. Except that it wasn't sweat; my hand was covered with blood.

I saw movement on the ladder above the passageway. It was Quint, less than ten feet away, taking aim again. I'd never get a shot off. _Shit. He's got me._

I heard a second 'pffft' but it was Quint who let out a strangled cry as he fell to the deck, landing on his back with his legs twisted grotesquely underneath him. Morgan Lyden had just saved my life...

Lyden shoved Pablo through the doorway of the nearest stateroom. "Gimme a hand," he muttered, and together we dragged a groaning Quint through the same door.

"You okay?" asked Lyden.

I glared at Quint as I fingered my head where the bullet had creased it. The bleeding had already slowed, but I'd have one hell of a headache for a couple of days. "I'll live."

Lyden squatted beside Quint. "Who's behind it, and why?" demanded Lyden. The only response was stony silence. Quint was a professional. I doubted Lyden would get anything out of him in the short time available.

Lyden drew his knife and forced it up under Quint's right eye, just breaking the skin. "Who?" Quint tried to pull away, but his spine had been shattered either by the bullet or the fall, and he wasn't going anywhere.

"No, I have a better idea." Lyden's eyes glinted sadistically as he repositioned the knife and made two quick slices through Quint's clothing. "Tell me what I want to know, now, or I'll cut them off, and _feed_ them to you." What made the threat so utterly chilling was not only the fact that it was delivered in a completely calm, unemotional voice, but that Quint knew Lyden meant it.

The injured man's eyes were huge, but he didn't answer. Lyden applied pressure to the knife. Losing an eye was something Quint could handle, but not this...

"Barker," whimpered Quint. He coughed, bringing up a mouthful of frothy blood. The bullet had found his lung, too. "He wants your operation."

"Why take out Magnum?"

"A plant. Or your boy," gasped Quint, gagging. "Either way, had to go."

"Who else?" Quint struggled for air as blood gurgled in his throat. Lyden applied more pressure to the knife. "Who ... _else?_"

"Drummond!" Quint whispered hoarsely. "Drummond... All I know..." He was nearly sobbing.

Lyden nodded and stood, which seemed to panic Quint all over again. "For God's sake, at least shoot me! Don't leave me here to drown!"

Lyden stared down at him. "Magnum? Give me his surprise."

I handed Lyden the gun I'd retrieved earlier from Quint's ankle holster. "Okay, Quint." He smirked as he placed the gun on the desk ten feet away from the injured man. "It's all yours, if you can get to it. But pretty soon, this room will fill with water. And I'm picturing you trying to hold your breath, until you finally can't any more, and your reflexes force to you inhale..." His malevolent grin widened. "If you're lucky, you'll bleed to death before then."

"_Nooooooo!!!"_ Quint's strangled howl was cut off when Lyden snapped the steel door shut behind us.

Lyden fingered the mic at his throat as we continued along our original route. "Osprey Two, Osprey Leader."

"Osprey Two," I heard Barker's voice in my ear.

"Join us in the captain's cabin."

"Roger."

By the time Barker arrived, a shaking Pablo had the safe open and was transferring the money into bags.

"Pablo?" called Lyden, gesturing for the man to stand. Pablo climbed to his feet.

"Y'know..." drawled Lyden. "You're a smart man, protecting your mother, but not quite smart enough. You didn't really think I'd leave witnesses..."

Horror filled Pablo's eyes and he looked toward Barker. "Señor Barker?" he squeaked. "You said..."

Lyden looked back and forth between the two. "Jack? When did you talk to Pablo?"

"Me? Talk to _him?_" Barker snorted. "You gotta be _kidding..._ I didn't! I don't know what the hell he's talking about!!"

Lyden jammed his pistol up under Pablo's chin. "What, exactly, did _Señor Barker_ tell you, and when?"

Pablo looked like he was going to pass out. He didn't answer, and I wasn't sure whether it was because he didn't want to, or he physically couldn't. Lyden shoved him against the bulkhead, jammed the gun harder against his neck, and snarled, _"What?"_

Pablo glanced at Barker, and then back at Lyden. "He... He said..." he stammered in terror as urine dribbled down his legs and formed a puddle at his feet.

Lyden grabbed Pablo's left arm and slapped it up against the bulkhead. There was another soft 'pffft' as Lyden put a bullet through Pablo's palm. Pablo dropped to his knees, hugging his wrecked hand and screaming. Lyden gave him ten seconds before he buried the barrel of the .45 in Pablo's crotch and demanded softly, "_What_ did Señor Barker tell you, and _when?_"

"_Por favor!"_ sobbed Pablo. "I will tell you!!" Lyden didn't move the weapon. "It was on the radio, last week," the man babbled. "He said that if I would help him take the weapons for himself, he would make me his partner."

Barker looked astonished. "Morgan, you're not actually _listening_ to this little wetback, are you? You're going to take _his_ word over _mine??_"

Lyden straightened up and spoke very quietly. "Y'know, Jack, if it were just his word, no. He's too damned scared and too damned stupid to make up a story that fast. But see, there's Quint... Maybe you can explain to be why he tried to take out Thomas. He told me it was your idea. Besides _that_, two of my other business associates told me never to turn my back on you, or I'd be liable to find a knife in it. I'm beginning to think they were right."

Barker's hand started to move, but I already had my gun aimed at his chest. "Drop it, Jack," I snapped.

"Morgan, for God's sake! Are you crazy? Why would I cheat you? It makes no sense! I'm telling you I didn't double-cross you!!!"

I knew Barker hadn't turned on Lyden, although from the sound of it he was probably planning to in the near future. But not this time. Barker hadn't talked to Pablo on the radio. I had. I'd set Jack up, and it looked like the frame was going to work. I wasn't sure whether to be happy about it, or sick to my stomach.

"Thomas asked you to drop the gun, Jack. Do it."

Barker gave me a murderous look as he dropped the gun at his feet. "Kick it away," I ordered. He did.

"No one double-crosses me, Jack." Lyden's voice was low and silky. "I really wish I had the time to make an example of you, but I don't. Thomas? Take care of business... Please..."

Now Barker was the one who looked scared. Even so, he actually chuckled. "Magnum? You? Kill me? Unarmed? Nah... You can't shoot me any more than you could've shot that kid a few weeks ago. You're too much of a Boy Scout."

I leveled the .45 at Barker's head and flipped a mental switch, shutting off all feeling, all emotion.

"You're confusing today with the old days, Jack. White hats... Good guys... _Boy Scouts..._ The _old days..._"

The look of astonishment on Barker's face was still frozen there when the back of his head splattered all over the bulkhead and his lifeless body crashed to the deck.

I turned to where Pablo was gaping at the scene, aimed, and pulled the trigger again.

Lyden nodded. "I guess this makes you my new Second-in-Command. I don't think I have to tell you what I do to double-crossers."

"No," I said quietly. "But that's not the way I do business. If I'm working for you, I take orders from you. Simple."

"Good. Now let's get the weapons offloaded and sink this bucket."

_Except that I'm not working for you..._ Loyalty is just part of my nature. Despite how twisted as this situation had become, I had pledged loyalty to Morgan Lyden on some level. That meant something to me, and I hated the deception.

"Morgan... About earlier..." I cocked my head toward the passageway. "Thanks."

He slapped me on the back. "All part of the code, Thomas, watching each other's back..." I think that's when it _really_ started to eat at me.

**xxxxxxx**

I stepped in to Barker's shoes and became part of Lyden's traveling road show. We spent a lot of time making deals in a couple of bars on Oahu, but we also spent plenty of time aboard Lyden's jet going back and forth to Mexico. Lyden had learned his lesson; unlike Barker, I was never sent out alone.

Two weeks after we'd hit the freighter, we were in a little cantina in Baja, closing a deal for the crates of M-16s in the belly of the jet with a man named Luis. Everyone in the place was armed, either as part of our team or part of theirs. The few locals who didn't want to be involved in the transaction had had the good sense to stay at home. I doubted either side would actually start shooting, since we seemed pretty evenly matched.

"Where's my money?" demanded Lyden.

Unfortunately, Luis was a little short on cash... "_S-Señor,_" stuttered the smaller man, "I have most of it, but one of our benefactors has been detained by the authorities, and he cannot get me the money until he is released. One more day. Two at the most."

Lyden's eyes narrowed. "You called me down here and told me you were ready to close the deal, and you don't have the money? When I'm told a deal is ready, I expect it to be _ready._"

"But I thought we would have the money by the time you arrived. Just another day," he begged, "_por favor._"

Luis had badly underestimated Lyden. "No money, no deal. I have other customers." Lyden stood up. "Let's go."

"But _señor!_ My men!!" Luis protested, his eyes widening in panic. "They will be wiped out! The men we are fighting, they have AK-47s! Without your guns, we have nothing but ... but _spears!_"

Lyden's face held no expression at all. "I'm a businessman. I set a price. If you can't meet that price, I'll take my merchandise elsewhere. It's that simple." He shrugged. "Adios, amigo."

Luis was completely stunned, and sat with his mouth hanging open as Lyden walked away and I followed. I felt a twinge of pity. Luis's men would go without the weapons he'd promised them, and they would probably die. I squashed the feeling. I didn't want to have feelings for any of these people. Feelings were liable to cloud my judgment and get me killed.

It had been three months since I'd had any contact with NIA, and that life seemed very far away. I knew hostages could become sympathetic to their captors' cause. I also knew the same thing could happen to undercover operatives unless they were very, very careful. After Lyden saved my life, I realized I was in particularly dangerous territory. How far did I have to slip until I wasn't acting a part any more? Until I really became one of them? Sometimes, when I let my mind wander, I wondered what would happen if I just went through with the whole thing, took my cut, and disappeared to a remote beach somewhere in South America. _The only person I'd really miss would be Mom..._ I reined in my thoughts and concentrated on staying tightly focused on the mission. _I gotta finish this job and get out of here, before I forget who I am_.

**xxxxxxx**

I was beginning to get desperate. Since our hit on the armory, I'd known the stolen weapons were being stored in an old World War Two bunker at Cook's Cove, on Kahala Island, but I'd had no opportunity to even attempt to pass that information to Greene, and it didn't appear as though I was going to get the chance. Unless their surveillance operation was very, very good, they didn't know where the weapons were, and I doubted they even knew about the SA-7s.

After walking away from Luis, we'd met with another South American customer who wanted all of the weapons we had available, including the MANPADs. He offered an incredible sum of money for them and said he'd be in touch with us through his representative in Honolulu.

Exactly two weeks later, we met the representative in the restaurant of a non-descript Waikiki tourist hotel and made the final arrangements to transfer money and weapons. The buyer's rep departed and Lyden and I moved to the bar. I sipped on my beer and continued to wrestle with the issue of passing information to Greene while I watched a couple of hookers eye Lyden and me. I thought they looked a little too high class for this place, but as I stared, one made eye contact and smiled. Lyden caught me gawking, and chuckled. "Been a little too long has it?" I shrugged as I felt my face redden. "You're a young guy. Nothing wrong with wanting a little." Lyden beckoned to the girls with a tip of his head. "I'm not as young as you, but maybe we should celebrate. We're gonna be rich men pretty soon."

"Hi, I'm Cleo," purred the blond who slid into Lyden's lap, "and this is Misty."

I was a little embarrassed at the surge of desire that washed over me as the girls draped themselves around us. This wasn't like me, at all. I mean, sure, I was human, but under normal circumstances it took more than a hooker, even a beautiful hooker, to get me excited. Misty was wearing an electric blue miniskirt and bikini top that left very little to the imagination. I was still trying to figure out what these girls were doing in this dive when she lowered herself onto my lap and started moving in a way that left even less to the imagination. I glanced at Lyden, but he was busy running his hand up Cleo's thigh.

"Thomas," said Lyden, looking not at me but down at Cleo's mostly-exposed breasts, "C'mon. We're splurging."

"We are?" I'd hoped maybe he would leave and give me just a few minutes alone to get to a phone.

He nodded and walked to the lobby check-in desk while the rest of us followed. "I'd like a suite for the night."

_A suite. Damn. That means I can't get to a phone._

"I'm sorry, sir, but we're fully booked," responded the paunchy, middle-aged haole behind the counter.

Lyden smiled and pulled out a wad of cash. "I'm sure you can find me something." He dropped his voice and continued conspiratorially. "Even if you have 'lose' some Jap tourist's reservation, eh, my friend?"

"Let me double-check for you, sir," the other man smirked.

I fought to keep my face impassive. When this was all over, I decided I'd come back here and make sure this bastard lost his job.

A few moments later, the four of us turned toward the elevator, room key in hand. "Send up two bottles of champagne," Lyden called back over his shoulder.

I wasn't sure whether it was because Lyden impressed the hotel staff or scared them, but the champagne arrived at the door the same time we did.

"Payment up front, please, gentlemen," announced Cleo sweetly once the door was shut behind us.

Lyden was feeling magnanimous. "My treat, Thomas," he announced with a smile as he counted out bills and handed them to the girls.

Then Lyden took one bottle of champagne and disappeared with Cleo into one bedroom while Misty and I took the other.

Misty opened the champagne and handed me a glass. All of a sudden, I felt incredibly awkward. This wasn't like me at all. Her deep blue eyes looked wounded. "What's wrong?"

I set the glass down. "Aw, nothing," I answered uncomfortably, shoving my hands deep in my pockets. "I just don't usually do this, y'know?" I turned away to look out over the lights of Honolulu.

She walked over, pressed herself against my back, and reached around to start unbuttoning my shirt. "I'm yours for tonight. Whatever you want."

All of a sudden, I _wanted._ Wrong or not, I needed to hold someone and to be held, even if the feelings were bought with cold, hard cash. I spun around and took her face in my hands. I kissed her hungrily, and found myself pleasantly surprised at her acting ability as she returned the kiss with equal desire. I ran my fingers through her golden hair while she finished unbuttoning my shirt and pulled it free from my pants. _So different... She looks so completely different from Michelle..._ I wondered if I'd ever stop making comparisons. I shoved the thought aside as my hands slid down her shapely neck and untied her bikini top, then kept moving and unzipped her skirt. I reached for my belt as her skirt fell to the floor.

"No," she whispered, gently pulling my hands away. "Let me do that for you."

She pushed my shirt back over my shoulders and frowned. "You're so tense." She pressed herself against me and smiled warmly as she reached up to knead my neck muscles. "I can fix that."

"I'm sure you can," I murmured, grasping her shoulders as she ran her fingers down my torso until she reached my belt. Thirty seconds later I stepped out of the jeans lying crumpled around my ankles and enveloped her in my arms.

**xxxxxxx**

"You're quite the gentleman," Misty commented as we snuggled late the next morning. I was glad there was no PT this morning, because I was certainly in no shape for it. We'd had very little sleep.

I was embarrassed all over again. "Well, there's no reason not to be... A gentleman, that is..."

She giggled. "We still have some time. I need a shower, and I really can't reach my back. Can you help?"

We had a very nice, ah, shower together and were rinsing off when she stretched on tip-toe and whispered in my ear, "Where are they storing the weapons?" I pulled back and stared while water streamed over my face. She smiled and whispered again. "Don't look so shocked. Greene and McGarrett sent me. I'm a federal agent." My jaw dropped. "It was impossible to get to you on the Big Island, so we figured we had to try to reach you here."

"Your _assignment_ was to _sleep with me??_"

"Shhhh... Of course not! My assignment was to get you alone. But..." Her faced turned red. "When I saw the look on your face last night... You looked so vulnerable... I wanted to help. And... I have to admit..." She lifted her shoulders in a slow-motion shrug. "I wanted you as much as you wanted me..."

_No way. Lyden's testing me._ She seemed to read my mind and shook her head. "No, no set up. I'm Special Agent Kim Jones. We can't talk in the bedroom. I'm not carrying ID anyway; too dangerous. But Colonel Greene said to remind you that his father's pet name for his mother was Libby."

_Okay, so she's got the password right. Buck must have sent her. Damn, I'm out of options. Gonna have to trust her._

I continued to stare at her, still nearly speechless. "What about Cleo?"

She winced. "Cleo really is a hooker. Kinda needed her to keep Lyden occupied."

This had to be one of the stranger situations I'd found myself in. Passing information to a federal agent in a _shower_... "Okay," I pursed my lips. "The weapons are in a bunker at Cook's Cove, on Kahala Island. And just to make it really _interesting,_ there are SA-7's included."

Her eyes widened. "SA-7's?? Where the _hell_ did those come from??"

"Kinda figured everyone might have missed that... Too long a story. Bottom line is that we can't let those things get away."

"No shit," she muttered.

"The deal is set for a week from tonight, at twenty thirty." I paused. "Look," I offered lamely, "I'm really sorry about last night."

She grinned. "Hey, no need to be sorry. Don't worry, no one but us has to know about last night. We both got what we came looking for, in more ways than one. You did enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

I felt red creeping up my neck. She was right, but I didn't like it. It forced me to admit that inside I was a just scared little boy, aching for someone to love him. _Oh, what the hell._ I grinned back. "Of course. Did you?"

"Very much so." She pressed against me and I felt my body respond. "And y'know... We _still_ have some time left on Lyden's dime..."

**xxxxxxx**

_10 September 1979_

Our choppers landed in the clearing near the Cook's Cove bunkers just after twenty hundred. We set up our security perimeter just like we had many times before. The difference today was that I couldn't help wondering if Greene and McGarrett had a team out there out there in the dark, or not. If not, there wasn't a damned thing I could do to stop those SA-7's from falling into the wrong hands.

By the time the buyer's chopper arrived at twenty-thirty we had hauled the weapons out of the bunker and into the circle of light near our choppers. Lyden and the buyer met beside the crates, and Lyden started counting money while the buyer checked his merchandise. The rest of us watched for trouble, but didn't really expect any.

Suddenly the night was filled with blinding light and ear-splitting sound. I knew what caused it -- flashbang grenades -- but I was briefly incapacitated along with everyone else as floodlights lit the area and what seemed like at least a hundred police, military shore patrol and federal agents descended on the clearing. "This is the FBI. You're all under arrest! Drop your weapons! On the ground! On your bellies! Hands out in front of you where we can see them!" bellowed an artificially amplified voice. I did exactly as they ordered; no point getting shot by the good guys. Someone else apparently decided to run or to fight against overwhelming odds; I heard two shots off to my left.

I felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of my neck as hands grabbed my arms, rotated them behind my back, and snapped cuffs on my wrists. I was frisked, stripped of my weapons, and hauled to my feet by two large Master at Arms, or MAs, from the shore patrol. They were dragging me toward the holding area when I heard a familiar voice call, "Petty Officer Carter!"

"Sir?" responded one of the two men holding me.

"Bring him here." Buck Greene stepped from the shadows and met us at the edge of the clearing. He smiled, but there was no emotion behind it. "Although I have to say I find this an amusing sight, take the cuffs off and let him go. He's one of us."

Carter released the cuffs and I dropped my chin to my chest, almost embarrassed at being freed. I didn't like Lyden, but doing things this way bothered me. In some ways, I would much rather we had raided his compound, and I'd shot him point blank. It would have been more honest.

When I lifted my head, I was looking right at Lyden, who'd just been pulled to his feet. He put it all together in a few short seconds. His jaw dropped; he looked completely stunned. "You son of a bitch," he whispered incredulously. The shore patrol wasn't really expecting resistance at this point. Lyden surprised them, broke free, and charged toward me. Two other MAs intercepted him just before he got there.

"You broke the code, Magnum!" Lyden screamed, his face twisted with rage. "You'll pay for this, I promise you!"

"Your code, Lyden, _not mine!_" My emotions were more than just a little raw. "You wanna hear _my_ code? Simple. _Support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. Obey the orders of the officers appointed over me._ You wanna hear the whole thing, or is that enough?! It's _over_. You're _done_."

Lyden strained against the men holding him. The tendons in his neck and arms stood out like cords, and every muscle in his body was taut with rage and hatred. The two burly MAs were barely able to hold on to him. "I'll get you back for this, Magnum! I'll watch you die if it's the last thing I do!"

"Get him out of here!" snarled Greene.

Lyden continued to scream at me as he was dragged away. I walked out to the beach and stared over the water, trying to slow down for a minute and digest the fact that the mission was finally over. I heard more helicopters whop-whopping toward us through the darkness as Greene joined me.

"Did you get everyone at the ranch?" I asked.

The colonel pursed his lips. "Not sure. Is LeFevre here?"

"No, Lyden left him behind."

Greene scowled. "Damn, looks like he managed to get away. When he wasn't with the group we grabbed at the ranch, I figured he was here."

"_Shit._" I'd wanted to make sure we had them all. Even one on the loose was dangerous. For me...

"I'm assuming we don't have to worry about Jack Barker any longer?" Greene asked quietly.

"No." I locked eyes with him and continued, poker-faced. "Lyden killed him."

Greene stared back. "I see." He continued to hold eye contact with me for a few more seconds; long enough that he had a pretty good idea who had killed Barker. He slapped my upper arm, nodded once, and said, "Nice job."

I didn't have the words to answer him. 'Thanks' sure as hell didn't cut it. I'd done my job, and done it well, but I didn't like it. The whole thing left a bitter taste in my mouth. I pursed my lips and stared at Greene for a long moment before giving him a weary nod and turning away.

Amazingly, there was no mention of the incident with Rick. Maybe Greene thought that I'd overlook the entire thing. Not damnably likely; it'd be a cold day in hell before that happened. Buck's and my relationship had changed forever, but he didn't even seem to realize it.

Steve McGarrett approached me as I collected my gear. "I know this was a tough one for you, Magnum. You did a great job. Lyden will be spending a long time in prison."

I didn't even look at him. "I hope so. The cost to put him there has damn sure been high enough."

McGarrett studied me carefully for a few seconds. "You okay?"

_Hell no..._ "Yeah. Fine." It was time to change the subject. "How's Dan Williams doing?" I asked as we walked back toward Greene.

McGarrett pursed his lips. "He's out of the hospital. Recovering. But he's not ready to see anyone yet."

"Tell him I said hello?" McGarrett nodded as I climbed aboard the waiting chopper.

Greene climbed in beside me. "Don't let it get to you, Tom," he shouted over the rotor noise. "It's all part of the job."

I grimaced. _To you. Everything's just part of the job, to you._ Maybe my conscience was more developed than his, or maybe he'd been at this so long that it really didn't bother him any more. If it ever had. How could I not have seen him for who he really was?_ TC, Rick, Dan ... they were right about you all along._

I laid my head back and closed my eyes. I would never forget the look on Lyden's face when he realized that I had betrayed his trust. First, astonished. Simply not believing that I could be anything other than what he thought I was; a former naval officer who had decided to go into business for himself. Then blazing, murderous rage, when he realized the truth. I knew I would have to keep tabs on Lyden and watch my back. I hadn't seen the last of him. Some day, he would come looking for revenge. But what I couldn't shake was the unsettling feeling that in some way, I had really had betrayed him. He'd saved my life, and I'd turned on him. _That's your job, damn it!_ I reminded myself sternly. Still, all of a sudden, I wasn't quite sure who I was...

**xxxxxxx**

Despite the fact that it was nearly midnight, Cooly was waiting when we landed at Hickam. "Well, Magnum..." he sneered. "Have fun playing secret agent?"

"Sir?" I knew what he was up to, but I didn't think even he would pull this kind of crap, and I had no intention of playing his game. I didn't even flinch when he got right in my face.

"I expect you to be clean-shaven and have a fresh haircut when I inspect you, in your dress whites, tomorrow morning at zero eight hundred. Sharp. _Clear?_"

I could feel a flush creeping up my face. Never mind a "thanks for putting your life on the line," he wasn't even going to give me a couple of days off to decompress. I glanced at Greene. He didn't look happy either, but there wasn't much he could do about the situation.

"Clear. _Sir._" I heaved my rucksack onto my shoulder and stalked away.

**xxxxxxx**

_Hurry!_ I was racing headlong through the gloom of a jungle. Roots and vines grabbed at my feet and ankles, branches slashed my face and arms. I was in tremendous danger, but I wasn't sure why. I was running as fast as I could, but making almost no progress at all, and whatever was chasing me was gaining. _"Faster! Faster!!"_ my terrified mind screamed at me as my lungs sobbed for air.

I glanced over my shoulder, and despite the deep shadows, I was able to see what, or rather who, was chasing me. _Shit! VC... AK-47... Gotta know I'm here... If he catches me, I'm dead! **Faster!**_ I shoved vines aside and tried to keep moving, but I felt like I was caught in a spider's web. The VC didn't seem to trip on vines or be held back by branches. He moved smoothly, swiftly, gaining on me with every step he took.

_Give me more! Get me out of here!!_ I begged my leaden legs and burning lungs. I tripped, and as I crashed to the jungle floor I could see the man's face, perfectly focused on his mission as he raised the weapon to his shoulder.

_Oh, my God!_ I scrambled to my feet and tried to run. _The river. Just a few more yards. If I can just get to the water..._ But I was still a few steps shy of the riverbank when a sledgehammer blow to my back knocked me forwards into the murky water. I tried to kick to the surface, but I couldn't feel my legs. I clawed my way to daylight with my arms. There he was, right in front of me on the bank, taking aim. Somehow in all the chaos, I had managed to keep hold of my .45. At this range, I couldn't miss, either. But when I pulled the trigger, nothing happened. _It can't be jammed! Why won't it fire??_

My enemy wasn't having the same problems with his weapon. **"No!!"** I tried to shout, throwing my arm in front of me as though it might actually offer some protection. Time slowed to a crawl. I saw I saw casings fly and fire spit from the end of the barrel as he fired again, and again. The fetid water around me swirled red with my blood. I tried to kick, tried to swim, but I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't help myself any longer... _They'll never even find my body..._ The last thing I saw as my face slipped beneath the surface was a man in black pajamas, smiling as he watched me die...

"**_No!!!"_** I woke up thrashing and shouting, gasping and sobbing for air, my heart thumping. It took me a few disoriented, terror-filled moments to realize that I was safe in Honolulu, not dying in a muddy river somewhere in Vietnam. "Damn it," I muttered, wiping sweat from my eyes as my breathing slowed. "Not again..." It was the recurring nightmare that had started in 'Nam, the one that meant I was feeling helpless, like my life was out of my control.

It was barely dawn, but I went for a long run. It didn't help. It also didn't help that I had to go face Cooly.

**xxxxxxx**

Dan knew it had been a tough day. He'd told me all about the "all hands" held meeting the early that morning, where Colonel Greene had explained to the rest of the command that I had been on an assignment and hadn't really been thrown out of the Navy. Despite the briefing, most of the guys continued to give me a wide berth. Dan said I looked like I could use a drink. He suggested we avoid the crowd at the O'Club and meet TC at Rick's.

I was a little uncomfortable showing my face at Rick's club, despite the fact that Dan had already explained to him why I'd acted like such as ass the last time we'd seen each other. I was much more appropriately dressed this time, in chinos and an aloha shirt, not to mention the fact that I was sober.

I saw Rick as soon as we walked in, but avoided his eyes. I still wasn't sure he wasn't going to throw me out.

By the time Moki set two longnecks and a coke on the table, Rick was standing beside me. I swallowed hard and stood up slowly. "Look, Rick, I can explain..."

Rick shook his head solemnly. "Dan already explained. No hard feelings." He pointed at my beer. "Drinks are on me."

"I, ah..." I hung my head and pursed my lips. "I'm really sorry. I didn't like doing what I had to do..."

"Thomas, I said you don't have to explain. I understand. Really."

I could see that he was telling me the truth, but it bugged me that I'd had been forced to shove my friends out of my life in order to do my job. I wondered how many times a friendship could withstand that kind of strain. I nodded. "Thanks."

"No sweat, pal. Look, I gotta get back to the customers. I'll catch up with you later."

"You wanna talk about it?" Dan finally asked, after we'd sat in silence for several minutes.

"Not really," I answered quietly. Cooly had done his best to belittle and humiliate me. He'd held an inspection worthy of Marine boot camp, right out in public. While I tried not to let it get to me, it did.

"You gotta get it out, TM," TC coaxed.

_I suppose he's right._ "I'm telling you, Cooly was _unbelievable_," I finally said. "For starters, he ranted and raved like a lunatic! You'd have thought I was UA instead of out there und..." I caught myself and lowered my voice. "Instead of out there doing my job."

"Ah, that's just Cooly, you know that. He hates my dad, and he takes it out on us," muttered Dan.

"I know. But this time he seemed just this side of psychotic." I paused and pressed my lips together hard for a second. "And Buck didn't say a word to me..."

"Why do you give a _shit_ about what Buck Greene thinks?" demanded Dan.

_Because until a few weeks ago, I thought I wanted to be like him._ I didn't have a good answer, so I shrugged dejectedly. "I don't. Not any more." I glanced at TC and muttered, "You can say 'I told you so' any time now."

TC shook his head. "Naw, man... I'm sorry it went down like this..."

I grimaced. "So if I stick around, what do I become?" I gestured toward Rick. "Someone who ditches his friends every time there's some new assignment? Do I become like Cooly, who only cares about his own future and steps on whoever gets in his way? Or Greene, who only cares about the mission, and uses anyone and does anything to carry it out, no matter who gets hurt? He's gonna get someone killed some day, if he hasn't already. They're supposed to be the best and the brightest? The cream of the crop? Are we gonna become like one of _them?_"

"There's middle ground." There wasn't much conviction in Dan's voice.

"Yeah? Where?" I demanded bitterly. "Show me, because I sure as hell don't see any!"

"C'mon, TM," said TC. "Snap out of it. You did your job. Don't get all gloomy about it."

"Guys..." Maybe it was the desperation in my voice made them both look sharply at me. My eyes bored into TC's eyes, then Dan's. "I feel like I've got itching powder all over me. This isn't what I want for my life any more. I've seen too much. More than I ever bargained for. The price is just too damned high..." Despite my best effort, my voice cracked and I was astounded to feel my chin start quivering. "I'm thirty-three years old, and I'm not sure I was ever twenty-three..."

I could see that I was scaring the crap out of both my friends. Dan had no idea what to say, so he did an end run, signaling Moki.

"More beer?" the bartender asked, pointing to our longnecks.

"Yep," Dan answered.

"No," I countered darkly. "Make mine a scotch."

**xxxxxxx**

_30 September 1979_

After we finished with all the paperwork and the debriefings, I took leave during the last week of September. I was brooding, moody, and spending way too much time alone. I ran the beach until my legs turned to jello and I collapsed on the sand. I swam and paddled my surf ski for miles, until I could barely pull myself back out of the water. I hiked along mountain ridges where no one should go alone. Why was this mission different? What had changed? We used to complete a mission, decompress for a couple of days, and everything would be back to normal. Not this time...

I felt raw, agitated, just looking for the slightest excuse to jump down someone's throat. I kept turning it over and over in my mind. Was this what I wanted to do with the rest of my life? Play cloak and dagger?

On my last day off, I hiked high up to a particular place that I loved, several hundred feet above where the Pacific Ocean collided with the base of the Ko'olau Mountains. It was the one place where I'd always been able to clear my head, but I couldn't think straight, even up there. I stood still, stared out over the endless Pacific, and tried to let the trade winds blast my spirit clean. I could always breathe better up there, and usually I could slow down and think clearly, but not that day; my thoughts were screaming along in an incomprehensible babble. I shut my eyes, trying to still the noise, trying to focus on my single, trustworthy "little voice." The little voice that would help me figure out what to do. But I couldn't hear it; it was lost in the chatter.

I'd been out since dawn, and it was mid-afternoon by the time I trudged down from Makapu'u Point and drove home. My mind was a long ways away as I turned the key in my front door, but I instantly snapped back to reality when I realized there was someone in my apartment. I reached behind me, grabbed my .45 from my waistband, brought it forward, and had already started putting pressure on the trigger when I heard a familiar voice yell, "Magnum, no!"

I forced my hands up toward the ceiling and just barely managed to keep from putting a round through it as I stared incredulously at Dan, Rick, and TC. "What the _hell_ are you doing here??" They'd scared the crap out of me, and it only took me a few seconds to go from badly surprised to totally pissed off. "You almost got yourselves killed!!" I looked over my shoulder at the door. "And how the hell did you even get _in_ here??"

Rick answered me with a disgusted, "Thomas, I coulda picked that lock when I was thirteen years old. Now, you wanna tell us what the hell is going on?"

I thought I'd held it together and put on a pretty good show, but it was clear I wasn't fooling my friends. I'd been avoiding all three of them, because I knew they weren't going to let it go.

_What's going on? Let's see... I can't sleep, no matter how hard I try. The guy I thought was my mentor, if not my friend, showed me his true colors, I finished a mission where I had to pretend to be loyal to a man and then turn on him, I framed a man, and then shot him in cold blood, and I'm trying to figure out the rest of my screwed up life. Shit, nothing much going on at all..._ "Whaddya mean, what's going on? Nothing."

"Uh-huh." Dan looked at his watch. "Your mind is like a steel trap, right? Which is why you remembered we were supposed to pick you up half an hour ago for the concert?"

_The concert. Damn!_ "Is that _today?_"

Dan rolled his eyes and shook his head.

TC studied me carefully for a few seconds. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night," I answered defensively. "Why?"

"No." He peered hard at me. "Not the last time you lay down in your bed. I wanna know the last time you _slept_..."

"I told you. Last night!"

He planted his hands on his hips and shook his head. "You're _lying_ to me, boy."

TC was right. I wasn't sleeping; the nightmare came back almost every night now, and on top of that I was surviving on macho tacos, Old Dusseldorf, and coffee. The lack of sleep left me pretty short tempered, but so far the only casualties had been my knuckles, after I connected with the headboard of the bed one night.

"You having nightmares again?" TC asked quietly.

I dropped my head, sighed, and nodded dejectedly.

"Michelle?"

I nodded again. Besides the nightmare in the jungle, there had been the other one -- Michelle, surrounded by flames, screaming for help, reaching out to me and screaming my name. I sighed again, rubbed my hand across my forehead, and shook my head to dismiss the vision.

I looked around at the three of them. "Guys," I started, my voice strained, "do you think Michelle could be alive?"

Rick sighed and stared at the floor. Dan looked pained. TC finally spoke. "Thomas, we've been through this..." he began heavily.

I cut him off. "TC, it was _Buck_ who told me Michelle was dead. But there was never a positive ID. What if he was lying??"

"Even Buck Greene wouldn't stoop that low. You know that. I was there, remember? There were _three_ nurses on duty... _Three_ bodies... You couldn't tell..." TC stopped abruptly, and I could see the pain in his eyes. He wanted to believe that she could be alive, but he knew better. He'd kept me away from the scene, so I would never have the memory that he was reliving right now.

My brain told me Michelle was dead; my heart was still holding out hope for the impossible. But when we left the chaos of Saigon behind, any chance I had of finding out what happened, or even burying Michelle's body, left with us.

I sighed. "Yeah... I know... I'm talking crazy again..."

"How about you go with me to see Ron, down at the VA?"

"I am _not_ having a problem with delayed stress!"

"Maybe, maybe not. But you sure are having a problem with _something_, and if you don't get some help, you are gonna go off the _deep end!_"

"Look, I know you're trying to help, but I just have a few things I have to work out, that's all."

TC shook his head again and an uneasy silence fell.

Dan finally spoke quietly. "Ah, look, guys, I know we're all pretty stressed out. We probably ought to just blow this concert off..." Dan had picked up tickets for the Eagles concert that night at Aloha Stadium, and he'd decided that it was just what I needed to pull me out of my funk. I wasn't really in the mood, but Dan had gone out of his way to try to help, and I felt like I owed him.

"Aw, man, I'm sorry. No, let's go. I'll take a quick shower and we can head over there."

"And that's another thing," grumbled TC, glancing at his watch. "Will you _please_ tell me why we have to be _two_ hours early for a concert?" He had agreed to go with us, but he wasn't thrilled about getting dragged in early for the opening act.

"C'mon, TC, gimme a break," I grumble right back. "You know Dan's dad knows this Jimmy Buffett guy who's opening, and he got backstage passes for us. It won't be so bad."

"So bad? So _bad?? Jim_-my _Buf_-fett!! Boy, have you lost your _mind?_ The Eagles couldn't come up with some _decent_ music to open? They had to pick the _Margaritaville_ guy?" TC snorted. "Didn't anybody tell them we drink mai tais out here??"

Dan grimaced. Although I could take it or leave it, he was a big fan of Buffett's music. "Hey, we could all use a little down time after the last couple of months, don't you think?" he asked. "And Buffett's not _that_ bad. Right, Thomas?"

"You _listen_ to that stuff, Thomas?" yelped Rick.

"Yeah, sometimes, a little," I admitted, although my musical tastes normally ran more toward the Stones and Van Halen. "I kinda like that laid back lifestyle thing he's got going. Maybe that'll be the new me," I needled, grinning in spite of myself.

"Oh, God, I hope not," TC groaned and rolled his eyes. "I can't take both of you telling me what a big star this guy is gonna be..."

**xxxxxxx**

_1 October 1979_

The morning after the Eagles concert was a typical Monday at NIA; Cooly was being an overbearing jerk and the rest of us were trying to simultaneously do our jobs and stay out of his way. While the show had been good, it hadn't accomplished what Dan had hoped it might; I still felt like I had itching powder all over me. And now I also had "Hotel California" playing in my head. _You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave._ It wasn't a good combination.

Unfortunately, Cooly picked that morning to throw his latest tantrum. He walked into our office and stopped beside one of my guys, Ensign Peters. Peters was new to NIA, fresh out of intel school, and hadn't even been in the Navy for a year yet. He was a skinny, nerdy kid, maybe a little too uptight, but not a bad guy. He'd certainly never run into the likes of Cooly in his short career.

"Good morning, Captain," chirped Peters, snapping to attention. I could see him beginning to sweat.

Cooly smacked a report down on the desk. "Are you responsible for this piece of _crap?_"

Peters glanced down at the desk. "Y-Yes sir." The poor guy looked both scared to death and confused as hell. I could understand why. It was never a good thing to be singled out by Cooly. But Peters was a smart kid, and already a better analyst than I'd ever be. There was nothing wrong with his report; it was a damned good piece of work. Even Buck Greene had given the paper grudging approval before forwarding it up to Cooly. I couldn't see how Cooly could have a problem with it.

"And you actually expect me to forward it to Pac Fleet??"

The ensign's eyes were huge. If he'd thought about it, he would have realized his analysis was sound, but he'd never been the object of Cooly's wrath before, and he was too badly rattled to defend himself. "S-Sir?"

"It's a simple question, ensign!!" The captain picked the report up off the desk and waved it under Peters' nose. "I asked you whether you think I should risk _my_ career by forwarding the piece of _crap_ to Pac Fleet? And what should I tell the admiral? That I put my faith and trust in _you?_ A damned wet-behind-the-ears _college-boy **ensign**?_"

Maybe it was my Irish Sullivan blood, or maybe nothing more than lack of sleep, I don't know, but it was almost as if I felt something physically explode inside me. The internal controls that should have kept my temper in check failed catastrophically as I stepped between Cooly and Peters, and I was roaring as soon as I opened my mouth. "There's just no _pleasing_ you, is there, _Captain?!_ You find fault with _every_thing and _every_one, no matter _how_ hard they work or _how_ good a job they do!" My hands were clenched into fists and I knew I had to have a pretty wild look on my face. My little voice was screaming at me, trying to get me to stop, but I just didn't give a damn. "You grind people down until they've got nothing left to give and their morale is _shot,_ then you wonder why you have 'FTN' written all over the walls in the head! There's no teamwork with you! No such thing as shipmates helping each other out! You act like you're some kind of little demigod and all these people are here just so you can pull their puppet strings and make them dance to your music! You don't give a _damn_ about these people!!"

By the time I finally stopped long enough to gulp a breath of air, Lieutenant Colonel Greene had materialized beside me. I wasn't sure whether someone had called him, or whether he just heard the commotion.

"Lieutenant Magnum! With me. _Now!_"

_Uh-oh..._ I glared back over my shoulder at Cooly as I followed Greene to the same small conference room he'd used when he pretended to chew me out all those weeks ago. Today he wasn't pretending.

Greene closed the door quietly behind me. Too quietly. He was moving slowly and speaking in controlled, measured tones, but his eyes were blazing.

"Lock it up, Lieutenant," he barked.

I came to a rigid attention and tried to get myself under control. I knew I'd crossed a line, and deserved what was coming. If nothing else, Buck Greene was a by-the-book guy, and he was going to chew my ass.

Greene's nose was less than two inches from mine. "I don't care _what_ you think about Captain Cooly, _lieutenant,_" he seethed, barely able to control his rage. "He is the _commanding officer,_ and you will _act_ like he's the commanding officer, or I will write up your 'conduct unbecoming' and 'insubordination' charges _myself!_"

I knew better than to say anything; this was a one-way conversation. I'd learned a long time ago that when Marines stopped yelling and dropped their voices very low, as Greene was doing now, they were usually _way_ beyond angry. Greene stalked across the room and stood with his back to me, his balled-up fists planted on his hips. I knew that on some level, he sympathized with me. He had to be just as frustrated as I was. We'd survived combat, and now we were working for a micro-managing paper pusher who didn't have the first clue about real leadership. I got the feeling that Greene didn't really like chewing me out, but he couldn't just let borderline insubordination go. I wondered how much of the colonel's anger was caused by what I'd done and how much was a result of having to defend Cooly's position.

He turned and studied me for a moment. "Go home, Magnum." The fury in his voice was gone, replaced by stern professionalism. He didn't want to write me up, but if the day continued the way it had started, he wasn't going to have a choice. "Get your head back on straight and report for duty tomorrow acting like a naval officer, not an overgrown teenager. Dis_missed._"

"Aye aye, sir."

Cooly had disappeared, but I could feel every eye on me as I walked back to my desk, grabbed my keys, and headed for the front door as fast as I could. My face was scarlet, but I wasn't sure whether it was from anger, embarrassment, or a combination of both. I wasn't angry at Greene. I hated to admit it, but he was right. Cooly was the CO, and the position deserved respect, even if the man occupying it didn't. I was angry at Cooly for his piss-poor leadership, and I was furious with myself for stooping to his level. I knew better than to do what I'd just done. I'd been trained better than that. I was a better officer that that. But I just wasn't sure I could play this game any more...

**xxxxxxx**

_Mother, mother ocean, I have heard you call..._ I made a beeline for the ocean. It had always soothed my spirit, and I hoped it would again. The surf was a little bigger than I had realized, and I had to paddle for all I was worth to power my surf-ski through the break. I hoped that if I wore myself out, I might be able to think. Adding to the my confusion was the fact that bits and pieces of Buffett's music from last night's concert kept playing in my head, switching from one song to another like an out-of-control jukebox.

_I wanna go back, to the islands..._ I wanted to slow down, find some peace and quiet. No more "Yes, sir. No, sir." No more sweating the next undercover assignment, or the next war. No more being at someone else's beck and call... I stopped paddling and let my surf-ski coast to a stop as I lay back and tried to catch my breath. I wished it were as easy to slow down my life. _Who am I? What's my purpose in life? Why am I here? Where am I going?_ All of the Big Questions came crashing in on me at once.

_Son of a son, son of a son, son of a son of a sailor..._ But the Navy was the life I _wanted_, the life I'd _chosen_ for myself. Son of a son of a sailor; it's who I _was_. This whole dilemma left me angry. I'd planned on a long Navy career, and nothing was supposed to screw that up. It wasn't like the undercover operation had set off an explosion inside me. It was more like a pot of water had been simmering for a long time and had finally come to a full boil. It wasn't that I hated the Navy. I didn't. I loved the Navy. I just hated the people running my little corner of it.

_And now I must confess, I could use some rest. I can't run at this pace very long..._ Maybe I was just tired. Maybe taking a few weeks of leave would put everything back in perspective. Maybe not... Suddenly all my frustration bubbled to the surface. _"I can't do this any more!"_ I shouted raggedly. I wasn't even sure who I was yelling at. God? Myself? I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to regain control of my emotions.

_We've gotta roll with the punches, learn to play all of our hunches..._ I cracked a half-smile in spite of myself. Well, I'd certainly managed to do that fairly well, at least until recently.

_Forget that blind ambition, and learn to trust your intuition..._ Is that what my little voice had been trying to tell me? Had I let my ambition to follow in my father's footsteps keep me from trusting my own intuition? From being the man **_I_** was supposed to be? Had ambition drowned out my little voice, the voice that had kept me out of trouble and alive more than once?

All of a sudden, the next few lines of the same song thundered through my head. _But I don't want to live on that kind of island. No, I don't want to swim in a roped off sea. It's too much for me, too much for me. I've got to be where the wind and the water are free._ "Oh, my God! That's it. That's it, exactly!" I whispered hoarsely, pulling myself back up to a sitting position. _But I can't... I have obligations..._ My face twisted with the same misery I felt down deep in my soul.

"No! I can't just quit! I owe it to you, Dad!" I shouted at the sky.

Instantly, everything was totally, eerily still. The wind seemed to pause. The waves made no sound. I was in a bubble of complete silence.

"Son, you don't owe me a thing. You have to live _your_ life, not mine."

I whipped my head around. "Dad??"

"I love you, son." The voice faded; "son" was barely audible.

He was gone, if he'd ever really been there at all. The wind whistled in my ears again, the waves slapped at my surf ski and roared across the reef. I wondered if my imagination was playing tricks on me. I could easily have believed that I was hallucinating, except for one thing -- the upheaval in my spirit was gone, and my soul was quiet for the first time in months. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I knew I had the answers I'd been looking for. It was almost as if I'd been given permission.

"Dad?" I whispered huskily, as the tears spilled down my cheeks. _Please don't go..._ But I knew there wouldn't be any answer. A few times in my life, I thought I'd felt my dad nearby. Once when I was little, and very sad. At my Academy graduation. Once in 'Nam. And at my brother Joey's funeral. But he'd never spoken before, and I'd never been sure it was really him. Today I was sure. I sat stock still, rolling up and down with the swells, trying to absorb the enormity of what had just happened. My dad had been dead for twenty-eight years, but he'd reached back and given me some of the best advice of my life.

I'm not sure how long I sat there, letting the wind and waves push me along. I finally glanced at my watch, and then dug my paddle into the water. If I hurried, I could catch Mom before she went to bed. Without really thinking about it, I grinned and started humming one more song from the night before.

_Oh, yesterdays are over my shoulder,  
So I can't look back for too long.  
There's just too much to see waiting in front of me,  
And I know that I just can't go wrong_

_With these changes in latitudes,  
Changes in attitudes,  
Nothing remains quite the same._

_With all of our running  
And all of our cunning,  
If we couldn't laugh,  
We would all go insane._

Yeah, somehow, everything was gonna turn out okay...

**xxxxxxx**

"Mom," I began carefully, after we'd finished our hellos, "I've been thinking about making some changes..."

"I wondered... You haven't seemed like yourself at all, lately. It's not a girl, though, is it?"

"No, Mom, it's still too soon..." An all-to-familiar lump rose in my throat.

"Now, you know Michelle would want..." Mom caught herself. She knew that despite the fact that Michelle had been dead for four years, it still hurt too much to talk about her. "But that's not why you called..."

I cleared my throat. "No... Mom...?" I stopped and took a deep breath. Once I said it out loud, it would make it real. "Do you think Dad would be mad at me if..." Another breath. "If I resigned from the Navy?"

Mom never hesitated. "Tom, I think you know that your father would want you to be happy. You have to live your life, not his!" I could hear the passion in her voice, and I new it came from her heart. Besides, Mom never BS'ed anyone. She told you what she thought, even if she knew you weren't going to like it.

"How about you?" I knew how proud she was that I'd followed after Dad.

"Thomas Magnum, you know better than to ask me that question!" she exclaimed with mock irritation. "I want what's best for _you_. You know that!" She paused and chuckled. "Now Frank, on the other had..."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm _sure_ he'll disapprove."

"Don't you worry about Frank. I'll keep him in line." She would, too. My stepfather and I had never gotten along, but Mom loved him, and I had to grudgingly admit that he was good to her.

I was surprised to feel laughter bubble up in me. It was an unfamiliar sensation lately. "I'm sure you will! Thanks, Mom." And just that quickly, my throat was suddenly very tight. "For everything..."

"You're welcome, son. Take care of yourself." She paused. "I _love_ you, Sport."

The warmth in her voice and her use of my pet nickname made me suddenly feel unreasonably like a little boy badly in need of a hug. "I love you too, Mom," I managed. We said our goodbyes, and I pulled out a pad of paper and started writing.

**xxxxxxx**

_2 October 1979_

I'd had a good night's sleep for the first time in weeks, and I was absolutely sure of what I was doing as I walked toward Cooly's office. Suddenly, Dan appeared out of nowhere and caught my arm. Damn, I hadn't wanted to see him! I had hoped he wouldn't be around. Someone must have told him I was headed Cooly's way.

"Magnum, what the hell are you doing?" Dan whispered frantically, not wanting to attract attention, hoping he could get me out of there before I did something stupid, or before Cooly came out of his office and provoked me into doing something stupid.

"Dan, I'm sorry, but it's over. I'm done..."

"No... Please don't..." Dan pleaded. I guess maybe the look of calm determination on my face convinced him that I meant it. He let go of my arm and nodded, a deep sadness filling his eyes.

I turned and knocked on Cooly's door. I walked in, placed my resignation letter on his desk, looked him in the eye, and walked out without a word. I could live with walking away from the Navy; the only profession I'd ever wanted, the only life I'd ever known. I could accept the fact that everything in my life was about to change completely. But I couldn't watch Cooly crow about it.

Colonel Greene caught up with me in the parking lot. "Just _what_ the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Resigning from the Navy. I've had enough. I'm not gonna play the game any more," I answered quietly.

"_What?!_ Are you out of your mind? You can't just walk away! Get away from Cooly if you have to. Do what I did, request orders. Anywhere. Hell, I'm going to DC, just to shorten this tour and get out of here."

"DC?? You'll never survive DC!"

"Yes, I will, and by the time I'm done with that tour, Cooly will be gone. You can do the same. I can arrange the orders for you." He grabbed my arm and squeezed hard. "Magnum, make sure you understand one thing. Men like you and me -- we are _different_ from other people. We can't just walk away from this kind of life!"

My eyes flashed. "That's where you're wrong. I _can_ walk away." I paused for a second, glaring at him. "And I'm _nothing_ like you, _Colonel._" I turned on my heel and stalked away, leaving him to stare after me.

My outburst wasn't entirely true. I'd prefer to think I was more like Greene than I was like Cooly, but neither was someone I wanted to emulate. I think Greene had always considered that he and I were cut from the same cloth, a breed apart from the Coolys of the world, but I'd just blown that theory to hell. I knew I'd done more that just piss him off; I'd rejected everything he considered important. I'd hurt him, and I didn't expect that Buck Greene and I would be on very good terms from now on.

**xxxxxxx**

_31 October 1979_

I didn't bother to look up from my beer to see who had taken the bar stool next to mine. Usually when I went all the way to the North Shore I didn't run in to anyone I knew except the locals. This was my last official day in the Navy, and I wanted to spend it alone. This morning I'd turned in my ID card and been escorted off the base. Despite the fact that it was my own doing, that I had resigned, it still hurt like hell.

When a familiar voice ordered, "Coke," I knew I'd been tracked down.

I turned my head slowly, stared at the man for a few moments, and finally demanded, "What?"

"You're a tough man to find," responded Steve McGarrett with a wry smile.

"When I want to be."

Even though he had finally replaced his suits and ties with more appropriate aloha shirts, McGarrett was still the epitome of an uptight cop. "Dan Cook told me I would probably find you here."

"So I can add him to my shit list," I growled.

"Don't be so hard on him, or on yourself," McGarrett responded quietly. "You did your job, what had to be done. You know that."

"I know." I looked away, across the lanai and out to the ocean. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

McGarrett's voice took on a sharper edge. "You're not supposed to like it. And running away isn't going to help."

My eyes were blazing. "I'm not running away!"

"Okay... Then tell me, what exactly are you headed _toward?_" He waited while I fumbled for an answer. "You don't owe me an answer, Magnum," he finally continued, "but make sure you have one for yourself. I don't want to see you become just another beach bum, because that would be one hell of a waste."

"No, I'm not throwing my life away. I've got a couple of options I'm working on." I was being deliberately vague because I suspected McGarrett wouldn't think much of my plan to open my own PI business.

"Glad to hear it, because I've got something I'd like you to consider." Whatever it was, he suddenly looked decidedly unhappy. "You know Dan Williams' injuries were pretty serious..."

I nodded. "How is he?"

"Not good. His hands are in bad shape." His scowl deepened. "The Governor finally put his foot down and forced me to retire him, at least temporarily."

"What??" I didn't realize he'd been injured that badly. I figured he'd heal up and be back on the job within a few weeks. I didn't even realize he was still out.

McGarrett pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. "I'm hoping he'll be able to come back in a few months, but I don't know."

Dan Williams, forced to retire? Williams and McGarrett were attached at the hip; this would kill both of them. I was still trying to catch my breath over the news when McGarrett's next words completely floored me. "I want you to take the job as Five-0 Second-in-Command, temporarily, while he's gone. Maybe for as much as a year."

"W-what?" I stuttered. "_Me?_ I don't have the background. What about the rest of your guys? And HPD? Is this some kind of joke?"

"Hardly," he snapped. "I know you. I know your work. I need your skills. Duke Lukela's always made it clear that he's happy being a Five-0 detective, but that he's not interested in the Second-in-Command job. I can't bring someone over from HPD for a year and then send him back. It just wouldn't work."

"You're serious..."

"Of course I'm serious. I know Admiral Hawkes cut you loose early, and I was hoping you didn't have anything lined up yet."

_But what you don't know is that the admiral was doing me a favor._ Normally it took months to process the paperwork for separation from the Navy. After I turned in my resignation, Cooly was on my case every minute of every day, hoping that I would blow up and give him an excuse to court martial me. It got harder and harder not to accommodate him. I finally jumped the entire chain of command, picked up the phone one afternoon, and called Admiral Hawkes. He owed me a big favor, and I figured it was time to collect.

Back in 1968, then-Commander Hawkes was a ride-along on a swift boat mission when what looked like an injured Vietnamese kid on the riverbank turned into an ambush. The boat was disabled, and enemy fire was too heavy for other boats to pick up survivors. A handful of the crew, including Hawkes, made it into the jungle. Our team reached them several hours later, just ahead of an NVA patrol, narrowly preventing their becoming long term "guests" of the North Vietnamese.

All I was asking for was a few months, and it only took the admiral a couple of phone calls to make it happen. "You owe me six months," he'd said when my discharge papers came back from D.C. in just three weeks. "And some day I'm going to collect." I didn't figure he'd ever have the opportunity.

I gave McGarrett's offer a full thirty seconds of thought while I took a long pull on my beer. I was flattered that he thought I could handle being his Second-in-Command. It was tempting, because I knew I could probably do the job well. But when push came to shove, I just couldn't see trading one set of shackles for another.

"I really do appreciate the offer, Mr. McGarrett, but the answer is no. I need some time and some space right now."

"You sure? I don't need an answer now. Think it over."

I smiled, but my heart wasn't in it. "I'm sure. You know as well as I do that thinking about it won't change my answer."

McGarrett stood up. "I can't say I'm surprised, unfortunately." He smiled and extended his hand. "Good luck, Magnum. In a lot of ways, I envy you."

"Thanks," I answered quietly. As I returned his handshake, I realized that he was the first person to wish me well without some kind of spoken or unspoken admonition about my resignation.

I wandered over the beach and watched the sun drop toward the water out past Ka'ena Point. The last time I would watch a sunset as a naval officer. The last sunset in this chapter of my life. Tomorrow would mark a new beginning, but the closing of this day marked an ending that I never thought would happen, an ending that part of me didn't want.

The sun was finally gone, and with it the small crowd that had assembled to watch the daily drama. I sat motionless as the darkness gathered around me, suddenly overcome by sadness. A lump rose in my throat and I felt tears well unexpectedly in my eyes. I knew this was the right path, but it still hurt to walk away from what I loved, and what my father had loved. I couldn't finish what he had started. I knew I wasn't betraying his memory, but on some ways I felt like I was. I swiped my hand over my cheeks, took a deep breath, climbed to my feet, and stared west over the darkening sea. "G'bye, Dad," I whispered, before I turned and walked to my car without looking back.

**xxxxxxx**

_November 1, 1979_

All of which brings me to today. November 1st. The "morning after"... Sunrise is always special in Hawaii. No matter what's happened before, there's the promise of a new beginning, a clean slate. I usually like to run the beach at sunrise, but today I'm sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees, just contemplating... So much has happened... In some ways, I'm terrified; I'm turning my back on the only life I've ever known. Although I had loved the Navy, this morning I feel like a free man for the first time in my life. I don't have much – a little apartment, a beat up VW Bug, and a brand new PI business without a single client. "No... Wait..." I wag my finger at an imaginary listener. "Make that _Private Investigator._"

I've got no particular goals in life beyond paying the rent, and as I sit and watch the bright orange fireball rise out of the sea, it really begins to hit home that I'm free. I think I'm headed in the right direction, but I still don't know my purpose in life. And I really have no idea who I am any more... My father's son... A wanderer like the grandfather I've never met... I grin. _At least Mom still loves me._

But through it all, there's one single truth I see with complete clarity and believe with absolute, unshakable certainty. I'm Thomas Sullivan Magnum. The Fourth. And no one owns my soul.

**PAU**

© 2004 J.J. Keegan


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